<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Other Side of Paradise by HarveyDangerfield, Venn</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22732414">Other Side of Paradise</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarveyDangerfield/pseuds/HarveyDangerfield'>HarveyDangerfield</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venn/pseuds/Venn'>Venn</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>King Falls AM (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abusive Relationships, Attempted Sexual Assault, Break Up Talk, Coming Out, Developing Relationship, Drowning, Emotional Infidelity, Handcuffs, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Infidelity, Physical Abuse, Pining, Romantic Tension, Sexual Tension, Unhealthy Relationships, Verbal Abuse, Victim Blaming</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 17:20:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>79,879</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22732414</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarveyDangerfield/pseuds/HarveyDangerfield, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venn/pseuds/Venn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>One of the hardest realizations Sammy Stevens has ever had to come to is that his best friend's wife hurts him. And one of the hardest things he's ever had to do is resist the urge to break them up because of it, no matter how badly he might like to be in Troy's arms instead. </p><p>"Conflict of interest" doesn't even come close.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Troy Krieghauser/Sammy Stevens</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>so, yes, this fic is actually very similar to "Good Buddy" </p><p>not so much in actual plot beats really, it just has a similar trajectory and also follows canon. the conclusions that troy has to come to are the same, so there are some similar  moments, but the actual events that get him there are completely different, so you don't have to worry about just reading the same exact fic twice</p><p>the reason i'm writing this is because I have two different partners who write Sammy, so I needed two different origin stories for how Sammy and Troy got together in the two different timelines! i'm not sorry</p><p>this one, admittedly, is a little bit heavier than the first, so take care of yourself while reading if your emotions are tender.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sammy Stevens is honestly past the age where he berates himself over finding people attractive despite being spoken-for. He knows where his heart lies, and he also knows that he has a functioning pair of eyes. Despite coming to King Falls specifically to follow the quickly-cooling trail of his missing lover, Sammy didn't begrudge himself very much when He found himself face to face with a <em>very</em> handsome officer who helped him get out of the blasted forest he was trapped in. After all, it's not exactly <em>his</em> fault Troy Krieghauser is a good-looking man. </p><p>His "type" has always been more broad than Jack's anyway. Jack likes his men tall, older than him, and witty, with dark eyes and a solid pair of arms. Sammy, on the other hand... he's found his eye drawn to all sorts. Handsome younger Korean rugby players, towering older men with broad shoulders and soft bellies who believe in lake monsters, short men with springy hair and sparkling eyes who work on the radio... and apparently tall, skinny deputies with sharp blue eyes and charming accents. Who knew. </p><p>The surprising part comes in the months that follow. Sammy is no stranger to finding a man attractive at a glance, but 99% of the time all he has to do is spend some amount of time with the man and the shine wears off real quick. Whether they trigger one of his pet peeves, say something that gives him a glimpse of their true colors, or display what they're like when they're <em>not</em> on their best behavior, sooner or later almost every man in Sammy's life has found a way to disappoint him. Every man except Jack Wright. </p><p>And now Troy Krieghauser. </p><p>It was almost laughable, how easy it was for life to throw them together. A late night show, a reoccurring graveyard shift, and a town that just kept giving them a reason to call the police. Sammy had never really been one for superstition-- It was sort of the reason he was in this mess to begin with-- but if he didn't know any better, fate was determined to keep them talking.</p><p>Before long, Sammy has him in his personal phone, not just the little rolodex for the Station's use, in case of emergency. It's easier this way, to text for help, for a favor, for breakfast. Entirely professional pursuits, all of them, and not once did Sammy tire of every occasion. Within no time at all, Troy became King Falls AM's darling, their pet officer of the law, with the hosts on speed dial and a penchant for being around when they needed him. </p><p><em>He's a good guy,</em> Sammy reasons after the third time that week of requiring his assistance with some trivial disturbance. <em>It's his job to help, and it's probably a slow night.</em> Rationalize it all he wanted, Sammy couldn't ignore the point of no return. Surely, Troy had to begin to let him down sometime. Averages would say that the man would stop being such a delight at some point. It'd grow old. Eventually.</p><p>Yet, so little had it not grown old that Sammy found himself learning things about the deputy, like what car he drove when outside of work-- Worse still, he recognized it outside of the grocery store he was currently walking into. Face tucked into his phone, reuseable bag in the crook of his elbow, he pointedly chooses not to think about it as he heads inside. Anyone could have that truck, anyone at all.</p><p>All he needs is peanut butter, mayo and lite beer. He'll be in and out in a flash. If he keeps his head down, then he won't have to worry about running into the deputy that manages to make him feel short at a perfectly respectable six foot even, whose eyes are the color of icebergs and make him feel even smaller in a way he doesn't completely hate. </p><p>"Well hey there, Sammy!" </p><p>So much for that. Sammy's eyes lift instinctively off the screen, and he finds himself shamefully doing what he's been doing for the past several weeks whenever in Troy's presence-- he rakes his eyes over the man in search of any flaw that he could nitpick and decide to dislike him for. But, as usual, all his arm hair is combed in the same direction, his glasses are spotless and even his goddamn pants have perfect seams in the front. To make matters worse, he's putting a half-gallon of chocolate milk into his cart. What an asshole. </p><p>"Troy, what a surprise to see you here," Sammy says, with as much put-upon pleasure he could inject into the remark. Sardonic as it was, he was genuinely happy to see him, all 10-something feet there was of him, and he grabs a basket even as he shuffles over to the same refrigerated aisle that Troy was parked in, his cart practically pinning him in place as he seemed very keen on investigating the milks. </p><p>It doesn't take a detective to figure out when someone is grocery shopping, nor does it take some sort of master conversationalist to get someone to reveal that fact; Rather ineloquently, Sammy glances up at Troy-- And simultaneously sees himself in his glasses, god, is that what he looks like?-- and drawls, "Grocery shopping day?"</p><p>Troy seems to come to the same conclusion as he looks down at his cart that Sammy's question was a weird one, because when he looks back up all he says is, "Yup." </p><p>Well, this is awkward. Luckily just then, Troy's attention is taken by the sight of a woman walking over, who if Sammy could describe in a single word, it would be Joyless. She's long and thin, much like Troy himself (though shorter by at least a foot if not more) with an stone-cold resting expression. She eyeballs Sammy like she's judging what he smells like, but Troy grins down at her with a smile that radiates sunlight. </p><p>"Sammy, you know I've mentioned Loretta?" Troy says excitedly, bracing his hand on the smaller woman's back. She gives Sammy another appraising look, and then offers him the most watered-down smile he's ever seen. Of course Troy has mentioned his wife, but when Sammy envisioned the sort of woman who would be married to a man like Troy... well, he didn't expect to see a five-foot brunette with a body as straight up and down as her hair, and a face like a block of ice. </p><p>Glad for the distraction-- and always happy to make a good first impression-- Sammy turns a smile Loretta's way, choosing to ignore the cold front coming from her direction. </p><p>"Only a couple hundred times, bud, sure. Hello, Loretta, it's a pleasure to finally meet you," The sultry drawl of his voice is like honey on the radio, but in real life it's not so bad either. Usually paired with a smile and his better-than-average looks, it does alright by him and the people he meets. What small percentage doesn't get charmed by the croon is usually taken by the 'radio host' title, but he was used to people already knowing that about him in this town.</p><p>Holding his hand out to shake, Sammy clears his throat when she seems less than excited about his involvement in the conversation,  "It's so nice to finally put a beautiful face next to all the nice things Troy says about you, really."</p><p>"Charmed," she says, and doesn't shake his hand as much as reaches out and pinches his palm slightly before crossing her arms over her chest. "We should finish, Troy--" she starts, but Troy is already continuing on in his sweet way. </p><p>"Now that you've met the missus, I can start inviting you 'round for church potlucks. Loretta don't like to be surprised with new faces at those--" </p><p>"Troy," Loretta says, putting her hand on his chest to cut him off. "Sweet heart. Let the poor man shop in peace." </p><p>"Aw, shoot, listen to me. Goin' on like someone's ma. I outta let you get back to your shoppin'. Was great seein' you like always, buddy," Troy smiles, appropriately cowed.</p><p>"Sure thing, bud," Sammy chuckles, nodding as he decides to busy himself looking at cheese, as if that had been his purpose going over there in the first place, and not just to talk to Troy. "Let me just grab this, and I'll get out of your hair." </p><p>He snatches a block of mozzarella, turning just in time to catch the simmering look Loretta had levied at Troy over Sammy's shoulder, eyebrows twitching together as he clears his throat, maybe a bit louder than was strictly necessary.</p><p>"I'll see you around, deputy Krieghauser. Again, nice meeting you, Loretta, you two have a nice day," and, always the master of escape, Sammy slips away, ignoring the concerned little bubble of his stomach that occurred when he thought about that nasty look for too long,.</p><p>"You know me, chatterbox--" Sammy hears Troy's voice peter off as he makes a beeline for the condiment isle, desperate to get away from the weird feeling Loretta gives him. He forces himself not to read into it, he'd only just met the woman, after all. </p><p>Snagging both the peanutbutter and mayo at the same time, he quickly makes his way to the beer isle while trying to decide whether he should make a second trip to put the cheese back, or just cop to his shame of grabbing Emergency Mozzarella as a means of escape and buy it. As he's deciding between a couple of brands, since they still seem to be out of stock of his favorite despite the fact that the sale tag has been there since he moved to this little town, he hears a voice in the aisle over that he immediately recognizes, again, as Loretta's. </p><p>"Are you serious, Troy?" she hisses. </p><p>"About-- what, the chocolate milk?"</p><p>"<em>How</em> many times do I have to tell you I'm on a <em>diet?"</em></p><p>"Aw shoot, I'm real sorry Loretta-- I just forgot. I can go put it back--"</p><p>"You forgot <em>again?</em> We went over this <em>yesterday</em> when you made that sugar-water."</p><p>"It's called sweet tea, of course it's got sugar in it. I wasn't meanin' any harm by it. I just keep forgettin' cause you look so good you don't even need to be on a diet."</p><p>"Oh, you must think you're adorable."</p><p>If you ask Sammy, 'adorable' is just the word to use when referring to what Troy just did. From his spot outside of this interaction, Sammy shockingly had an opinion. Unsurprising, maybe, but worse still was the rather blatant stalling he'd been doing in the aisle, over the goddamn mozzarella cheese. Pretending to occupy himself looking at the chips and snack food, he's able to eavesdrop a bit longer, unable to help himself, and still trying to halfway decide if he should say something at all. He sticks with no, for now.</p><p>"I've been known to be," Troy sounds playfully smug. "I'll just go put it back right now, I'm real sorry."</p><p>"You'd better. Who do you think you are, getting cute with me?" Loretta says, and even though he can't see her face, Sammy has gotten pretty good at reading tone of voice by sound alone-- so he'd bet the farm on it that she's teasing him back. A relief, considering the tone of her previous remarks. </p><p>It's none of his business. He knew it wasn't any of his business, but he went and got nosey, anyway.</p><p>But of course it worked out. Sammy actually felt a little swell of relief leave him as he chose then and there to get rid of the mozzarella, if for no other reason than to get him out of hearing them reconcile, and ideally would get him in and out of the dairy aisle before Troy showed back up and he gave him more of a reason to stick around.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ever since "Peas the cat" came along to reconcile Ben and Troy's relationship, Ben has almost been more eager to hear from Troy 'friend of the show' Krieghauser than Sammy has. Not that Sammy's overly eager, of course, just a normal healthy amount of eagerness that any man would have for his handsome, tall, charming, has-no-flaws good buddy. </p><p>Lately, Ben has come up with any excuse to call and talk to Troy on the air. Doyle tells them about a strange phenomenon in his kitchen? Call Troy and report it! Herschel can't find his car? Call Troy to see if he's free to help! Someone lost up in Sweetzer Forest again? Troy's just the man for the job! Sammy's actually had to put a stop to it more than once, on the grounds that he could swear Ben's feud with Troy is stronger than ever, seeing as he's been giving him <em>more</em> work. </p><p>But tonight, for once, Ben actually has a good reason to request they call Troy. Mary Jensen had called up in tears talking about how much she missed Tim, and how hard the period of being without him has been. Her words strike Sammy like an arrow to the heart, and when Ben suggests they get ahold of Troy so they can all have dinner with Mary to cheer her up, Sammy has no arguments at all. </p><p>Ultimately, Ben strikes out on Troy's office line, as well as his work cellphone. There's a brief pause where the pair confer over the likelihood of him actually being in trouble, but one quick call to dispatch says that Troy's shift was cut short due to a lack of activity that night, so he was probably at home and not receiving calls to his work lines.</p><p>A call to Troy's personal cell bears no answers, and as Sammy sets down the radio line, he fixes Ben with a very grave, rather dramatic look, "You know what this means, Ben," He says, his voice completely even, "We're going to have to call his house phone. Do people in this town still have landlines?" He asks curiously, scrolling back through the plethora of numbers he now had saved under Troy's name.</p><p>"People? Not really. <em>Troy?</em> Almost definitely. That old house belonged to his mom, and Troy doesn't seem like the 'pull a phone line out by its guts' type. I'd bet anything that landline still works, and still has the same number," Ben answers, as Sammy punches in the number. </p><p>Sure enough, it starts to ring, and on the third ring, a voice picks up that Sammy instantly recognizes as Loretta. </p><p>"Whoever you are, you better have a good reason for calling this late."</p><p>Sammy has to stop himself from clicking his tongue. To be fair to her, it <em>was</em> the middle of the night, but still. A nasty attitude on two meetings? His gut said 'no', but for the sake of optimism-- and Mary-- he persevered.</p><p>"Sorry to wake you, Loretta. It's Sammy Stevens, here live with Ben Arnold. We met at the grocery store a while back. We've been trying to get in contact with the good deputy all night. We were told he was cut early, but he's not answering his personal cell, either. Is he there with you, Mrs. Krieghauser? And do you think we could speak with him?"</p><p>"Oh, it's you," her voice is flat. "Well, you didn't wake me up. <em>Troy</em> woke me up coming home in his big boots. Last I saw him he was passed out on the couch in the living room, poor guy didn't even make it to the bedroom. I don't know if he's awake by now, but this phone's attached to the wall, so. I can't really go check."</p><p>Sammy rolls his eyes, glad he's a radio host and not a live news anchor. There was also a reason for it, and that was for times like these. Still, when he speaks his voice is free of mocking or snide drawl. He really just needs to talk to Troy.</p><p>"Well, is there any way you could set the phone down, check and get back to us? I wouldn't ask you to rip the phone out of the socket and take it with you," He teases, trying to lighten the mood a little bit, "Although bonus points if you do, that sort of commitment is hard to punish."</p><p>She gives a single exhale through her nose as laughter for his joke, while Sammy side eyes Ben grimacing from ear to ear and shaking his head. </p><p>"Is this really important?" she asks, instead of doing the honestly very simple task Sammy had asked of her. "Can't you just call back during normal human hours."</p><p>"Well, it's a little time sensitive, I'm afraid," Sammy says, unfazed by her clipped voice. He sounds like he couldn't even hear it, actually, plowing on like his joke had earned at least the well-mannered chuckle of his guest. Leaning forward in his seat, Sammy frowns over at Ben, gesturing to the phone like 'What's up?' before moving on, "We just need to nail down some times for something going on tonight, and I kinda need Troy to do that."</p><p>Ben makes a frantic gesture at his throat like he's trying to tell Sammy to cut the line, but Sammy can't just hang up on Loretta at this point, especially not when they really do need to get ahold of Troy. Not only for Mary's sake, but because they know if Troy hears he missed out on the Make Mary Feel Better Brigade he'd never forgive himself. </p><p>"Give me just a second," Loretta says flatly, and the sound of the phone being set down can be heard, followed by the sound of footsteps going up a flight of stairs. </p><p>"Dude, what?" Sammy finally hisses in Ben's direction. </p><p>"Uh-- I'll tell you on break," Ben says, sounding strained. "We can't have dead air while Loretta's gone, so-- what's <em>your</em> favorite thing to order for breakfast at Rose's?" it's as tense an attempt at time-filling smalltalk as any. </p><p>Sammy's eyebrows knit together as he rolls his eyes. Go figure, more enigmatic warnings from the illustrious Benjamin Arnold. "Well, you know I'm a man of the classics, Ben. Sausage, eggs, toast. Some potatoes if I'm feeling really wild. Is this seriously what you want to talk about right now?" Sammy snipes back, leaning forward, keeping on ear on the phone to make sure they didn't miss Loretta coming back.</p><p>"Do you have a better idea for harmless, witty and very short banter?" Ben fires right back, one of his legs visibly bouncing now.</p><p>"You're the expert on 'very short', why don't you throw another topic my way and see if it sticks?"</p><p>"Oh HAR DE HAR-- you're really FUNNY, SAMMY, I love your COMEDIC TIMING and SHARP WIT--" </p><p>"Troy's in the shower," Loretta's voice abruptly comes back on the line, and Ben immediatley sobers up. "I'll tell him to call you back once he's out. He probably has the number for your station tattooed on the inside of his eyelids by now. If there isn't anything else...?"</p><p>"Actually, Loretta," Sammy interjects before she can finish, leaning on his palm and ignoring the wide-eyed glare he was suddenly receiving from his co-host as he makes himself comfortable at the microphone, "Since you're up, I was kind of wondering if I could get to know you a little better. For someone so close to the show, we really don't hear much from you."</p><p>"That's because I'm awake when the sun is up, unlike some people," Loretta quips back. She doesn't <em>sound</em> snippy when she says it perse, but the comment is certainly pointed. "Not everyone in this town pulls night shift." </p><p>"Then we really should probably let you get back to sleep," Ben nearly groans it, giving Sammy a pleading look that he just knows his cohost will ignore.</p><p>"Come on, surely you've had a couple late nights here or there," Sammy does, indeed, ignore Ben's attempt at mediating the conversation, "Troy talks about you all the time, <em>he's</em> on all the time-- You mean to tell me you never even listen in? You're not even curious what we talk about?"</p><p>"No. I'm not," Loretta says, sounding just a teensy bit barbed. "Troy and I have an understanding. His friends are his friends, and my friends are mine. We're our own, separate, individual people. It's a relationship art form that's been lost lately with all the instagramming and facebooking and getting up in one another's business. Surely you understand, Sammy, you're my age. Social media is <em>exhausting</em>." </p><p>Ben is practically eating his own microphone at this point he's so desperate to get out of this conversation. </p><p>"You're not wrong, I am certainly no Twitter wizard," Sammy admits with a low laugh, continuing to happily ignore the younger man sitting across from him, taking the microphone with him as he leans back in his chair, making a big show over getting comfortable, just to make Ben glare. If he could get the conversation going, Troy would finish and they could take care of things once and for all-- everyone wins.</p><p>"Still, the radio isn't social media. In fact, we're one of the oldest forms of media out there. Interacting with us is like interacting with your local newspaper. I certainly hope the fact that Troy is such a frequent guest doesn't deter you from calling in. We're your AM news jockies, too, Loretta, I want you to know that."</p><p>"You're not my anything," Loretta says, and Sammy's actually starting to have a hard time telling whether she's teasing back, or actually getting annoyed. The line can be very fine when it comes to him. </p><p>"Okay! Loretta, thank you so much for helping us out, we appreciate you telling Troy to give us a call back," Ben says, leaning over to forcibly unplug Sammy's mic directly from the board. "We're gonna let you get back to sleep now, thanks again!"</p><p>"Mhm," Loretta says, unconvinced, right before the line goes dead, and Ben quickly cuts to commercial. </p><p>Before Sammy has a chance to get indignant over Ben unplugging his mic, Ben's already talking. "Dude, <em>don't</em> poke the bear, alright? I know you have a THING with bear-poking, but-- not that bear, okay?"</p><p>"Oh-- What, Loretta? I wouldn't call that bear-poking. At max I think it'd be like... goat poking. Which, depending on the mood of the goat, could be met with some fun back and forth," Sammy huffs as he leans forward to reset his station, only vaguely aware of the ad playing in his ear.</p><p>Sammy leans over his audio board, tugging at his cords to make sure Ben's forcible yank hadn't done any damage to the antiquated systems, "Do you have a horror story about every woman in this town, Ben? I don't even know what Loretta does, surely she's not... actually haunted, or something," He grunts as he tightens the screws to his headphone and microphone jack.</p><p>"No-- it's not-- I don't have horror stories about <em>every woman in town</em>," Ben says defensively. "She's just-- she's a <em>lot</em>, okay? I've met her-- several times, actually. She and Troy have been married for like four years or something, it's been a while, so I've met her. And she's just-- she's <em>weird</em>, I don't know what else to say. Like, fun-sucking, humorless, joyless, <em>weird</em>."</p><p>"Weird like the rest of this town weird, or weird like 'she doesn't think you're funny'," Sammy asks, still deadpan as he settles back in his seat, "Because if your next move is to tell me she's secretly part vampire, I might be morally obligated to let our friend Troy know about it," With a grin, it's apparent Sammy isn't taking this seriously, not in the slightest.</p><p>"No, <em>weird</em> like-- like, okay, I don't want to go spreading shit around, I'm not <em>Archie</em>, alright? But she gets... weird, about Troy," Ben says. "Weird like. Controlling weird. Like I said, not a gossip. It's not stuff I've heard from somebody who heard from somebody... it's shit I've seen with my own two eyes."</p><p>Sammy frowns, eyebrows pulling over his eyes at the nerves in Ben's voice at that, and his gut reminding him just what it thought of her at their first impression, "Honestly, Ben, I don't think you're wrong. I heard them arguing in the grocery store over chocolate milk. Well... she was arguing, he was just being a puppydog like always. I was sort of hoping that would have been a one-off, though, for Troy's sake."</p><p>Scowling over at the phone, it looks like Sammy is seriously considering redialing the number, but he thinks better of it, finger tapping on the wood of his desk, "...What're the chances she actually tells Troy to call us?"</p><p>"We might want to try him back in like ten minutes if he doesn't call first," Ben agrees. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>One of the things that Sammy learns definitively in the coming months is that the event in the grocery store unfortunately, definitely wasn't a one-off. </p><p>Honestly, all the things he notices are little things. Things that on their own wouldn't amount to much. A crabby sort of day, if even that. Sammy has the good luck not to actually physically cross paths with Loretta very often, but he hears so much about her from Troy, and the things he says are less than flattering-- but he knows they aren't lies. He's pretty sure Troy would burst into flames if he even tried to lie. </p><p>Things like how "Loretta would say thank goodness there's only one of me" and "I'd swing by to help, but Loretta ain't seen me since morning so she misses me" and "Loretta controls the finances, she's better at budgeting than I am!" among other things. Things like Loretta calling Troy on his cell phone when he's spending time with Sammy and Ben to check on him, and calling him to "talk about it" every time he spends money on his card, and double texting him if he doesn't respond fast enough to the first one. </p><p>For someone who had insisted that they weren't up one another's business, she certainly seems to circle Troy like a hawk. </p><p>It baffles Sammy how someone so genuinely good could be with someone who is so, apparently, genuinely nasty. A part of him resisted the narrative of Loretta playing games with poor Troy's emotions, convinced there was surely some good to be found in her, somewhere. But as time wore on and she remained as resolutely overbearing as ever, it grew more and more impossible to ignore.</p><p>Especially since she had a particular issue with one Sammy Stevens being involved in Troy's life past any professional degree, and Sammy really wasn't keen on giving up his friendship any time soon.</p><p>"It's always weird how Loretta seems to be everywhere <em>except</em> minding her own business, isn't it?" The dry words slip past Sammy's lips one morning when they're sharing breakfast, when Loretta has-- for the third time that morning-- called about something asinine; This time it was about just <em>how much</em> he put on their card, because Troy had insisted on treating the radio hosts. </p><p>It had been a stressful night, filled with random electrical surges, wild goose chases, and through it all everyone's favorite officer of the law-- Troy Krieghauser, keeping Sammy sane with his level voice and his calm demeanor. Honestly, Sammy should have been the one to buy <em>Troy</em> breakfast, but the man had insisted in that kindhearted way he did, and Sammy acquiesced in the soft, stupid, sucker way that he did. Go figure.</p><p>The fact Loretta had something snide to say about her husband doing something genuinely good was nothing short of a joke. It was hard not to bite back, it always was, but he was being good for Troy's sake. It was his wife, after all. Ben tears his eyes away from the vision of their good buddy standing out in front of the restaurant with his ear glued to the phone, smiling and chatting away like she isn't up his ass <em>again</em> in a matter of an hour. </p><p>"Yeah, man, I told you. She's always been like this, as long as I've known her. I don't know if Troy's just too gullible to realize it's an issue, or if he just doesn't care. I mean, Troy's not <em>dumb</em>, he's gotta know-- if you or I had a girlfriend or something who did this? He'd have something to say about it. But it just-- it feels disrespectful, doesn't it?" </p><p>Troy, pacing around back and forth in front of the restaurant, suddenly stops smiling. He doesn't look angry, or even particularly upset, he just looks <em>tired</em> all at once, and as he paces closer to the two radio hosts, he can just be heard through the glass over the sound of the other patrons. </p><p>"Loretta, you know-- <em>no</em> I ain't seein' Maisy. <em>Yes</em>, I'm at Rose's, like I said-- I know there was an extra charge, I got myself a refill on coffee. Do you need a selfie with the boys, or somethin? God's honest, I'm <em>at Rose's</em>."</p><p>Sammy had been playing with his food all morning, never one to scarf it down as fast as Ben did, but once Troy had stood to leave them once again in honor of stroking Loretta's ego, his food-eating pace had turned absolutely glacial. In fact, he seemed to have forgone eating altogether in favor of slowly tapping the prongs of his fork to the table, eyes rivetted to the scene in front of them.</p><p>Enigmatic as always, Sammy's poker face is something to be admired, although a few choice people knew just how absolutely devastating Sammy's anger actually could get. One such person sitting right in front of him. Sammy took extra care to try and look nonchalant, but the growing look of exhaustion in Troy's face was enough to make him stand.</p><p>"Actually, Ben, moments like this are exactly when you need your friends to call out your shit. Excuse me," Not giving him a chance to argue or stammer or bodily throw himself in Sammy's way, the radio host sets his napkin on the table and beelines for the door, his steps long and assured. Ben could have never kept up, and in a crowded diner such as Rose's it was almost a death wish to do just that.</p><p>So he makes it out the front door of the diner without being followed or scathed, not even pausing once his feet hit concrete, until he plucks the phone out of Troy's hand. He doesn't ask, nor look him in the face to try and gauge a reaction.</p><p>"Hi, Loretta. Me again, Sammy Stevens. You remember me."</p><p>Loretta, of course, seems startled beyond belief. She sputters for a moment before blurting, "Sammy <em>Stevens?</em> What in the-- where's Troy? What just happened?"</p><p>"Oh, don't worry. Troy's here. He hasn't evaporated in the three seconds you've been off the line," Sammy's voice is cool as he speaks, even as he holds one finger up to the towering, nervous-looking Troy suddenly standing just a bit too close. He suspects that finger is all that's keeping the lawman from grabbing his phone back. That, and good manners. Good manners which Sammy has never had, thank god.</p><p>"What the hell is this about, Stevens?" Loretta asks, sounding cross. </p><p>"Loretta, I'm sorry--" Troy raises his voice to be heard from a couple feet away. "He just walked up and--" </p><p>Sammy walks away, clearing his throat, "Well it's funny, actually. I was going to ask you the same thing."</p><p>"About what?" </p><p>Turning on his heel, Sammy keeps Troy in his line of sight, trying to keep the door of moving guests from in and out of the diner between them, "What the hell is this about, Loretta? Gotta be about something, you've called him three times today alone, and I gotta say-- It's getting real old having our breakfast interrupted."</p><p>"I really don't think that's any of your business," Loretta snips  back icily. "Give the phone back to my <em>husband</em>. You're making an ass of yourself, Stevens." </p><p>"Sammy," Troy sounds incredibly nervous, shifting his weight from foot to foot.</p><p>Sammy clicks his tongue, "Now, see, I'd usually agree with you the first time. Maybe even the second time if we were really going <em>wild</em> here at Rose's Diner and racking up a bill. But we're not. You know that. We know that. And you know he's with me and Ben, so how can we resolve this? How can we get our good mutual friend Troy to eat his breakfast in peace?"</p><p>"He's not my <em>friend</em>, he's my <em>husband</em>," Loretta snaps. "I'm not talking to you, and I won't ask again. Give him the phone back so I can settle matters with the man I married. This doesn't concern you."</p><p>"Kinda weird you don't consider your own husband a friend, isn't it?" Sammy needles, not quite able to help himself.</p><p>"Stevens--"</p><p>"--Either way, I have to insist on pulling rank here. You told me specifically that he has his friends and you have yours. He's at breakfast with his friends. You gotta let him eat," He says, his voice growing serious.</p><p>He recieves no reply. He hears a click, and sure enough when he looks down at the screen of the phone, now lit up, it flashes at him the amount of time Troy had spent on the phone consoling his wife. Thirteen minutes and thirty-one seconds. More than enough time for Troy's breakfast to have gone cold. He has no other choice but to actually face the deputy now, who looks mildly cross, but mostly concerned. </p><p>"Now Sammy, you can't just go around snatchin' a man's phone clear outta his hand," Troy says as he accepts the phone back from Sammy. "I'm gonna <em>get it</em> later for that stunt, she ain't gonna be pleased, not one li'l bit."</p><p>"I'm a grown man, Troy. What does she expect you to do, tackle me on the sidewalk?" Sammy shakes his head, folding his arms over his chest, "Does she always hold you accountable for things you can't control?"</p><p>"It ain't like that," Troy says, pocketing his phone after shooting a quick 'sorry!' off to Loretta. "She's just a fretter, that's all. Let's get back inside and put this whole awkwardness behind us, okay good buddy?"</p><p>He doesn't honestly sound like he's just asking. He sounds absolutely desperate to not draw any more attention to this than the situation already has.</p><p>"Of course. Troy, let's just enjoy our breakfast. That's all I wanted to get from the conversation, I promise," It wasn't, of course it wasn't, but maybe it would help assuage his nerves  if he had something vaguely plausible to tell Loretta once he got home. It wasn't the truth, of course, but Troy didn't have to know. One little white lie wouldn't hurt anyone.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sammy and Loretta's relationship never really recovers, after that. Not that it was ever incredible from the start, but from the day Sammy stole Troy's phone mid-conversation and onwards, Loretta has made it her personal credo that Sammy Stevens isn't to be trusted. It's actually kind of a pain in the ass, considering her husband is Sammy and Ben's best mutual friend </p><p>But Sammy's life goes on regardless of her feelings towards him. He isn't about to let his friend's wife having a bitter taste for him ruin his life. He knows it makes Troy sad to know his wife and best friend don't get along-- at least Ben has the decency to just keep his head down around Loretta, but honestly Troy should know by now that Sammy doesn't just shoulder abuse with a smile. He hasn't had to do that since his retail days as a teen, and he's not about to start that bullshit up again for a woman who has decided she hates him without really knowing him. After all, Cynthia is the same way, and honestly where would Sammy be without her wonderful presence on the radio just for him to harrass. </p><p>It is actually kind of a problem, though, when he finds himself at the mercy of several people around town who he knows must be Loretta's "friends" because they give him grief all across the board wherever they can. Or at least, he assumes it has something to with Loretta. He supposes it could just be people having a problem with him the good old fashioned way, but since they didn't seem to have a problem with him before that day at Rose's, and he hasn't said anything <em>too</em> inflammatory recently on the show, he has to assume it's Loretta's influence. </p><p>Now they constantly stopping him to check his pockets at convenience stores, or insisting he show the reciept for his purchased goods on his way out the door, or giving him grief over what he's buying at the grocery store. They're really only minor inconveniences, but when he runs into multiple people like this in a day, it can wear pretty fucking thin on his nerves. It's made only worse when he checks his watch to see if he has time to make it to his next errand before he has to go back to put more money in the meter, and he discovers that he's two minutes past. </p><p>Booking it as quick as he can while carrying bags of supplies for the station, he rounds the corner to discover, to his horror, his prius is being hooked up to a tow truck. Fucking fantastic. </p><p>"You're kidding me! Two minutes?" Sammy shouts as he pulls up short of his car, bags in hand. He rounds on the city employee stoically hooking his car up to the rig-- "Seriously, how did you even get here in two minutes? You gotta tell me, how'd they get <em>teleporting tow trucks</em> in King Falls?" His words are sharp, itching to get a reaction, anything, out of the city worker, who seems blandly content to do absolutely nothing.</p><p>With a thrust of his bags, he sets them on the curb, whipping around to turn on the employee proper. Squinting he can almost make out a familiar look to him, but honestly, he's more interested in the laser focus this guy had for hooking his car up to the truck, "Seriously, can I bribe you out of this. It was two minutes, man, let me slip you a fifty and we can move on, alright?"</p><p>"No can do there, friendo," says a familiar voice, and the face of Ernie Salcedo leans out the window to smirk smugly at Sammy. "You see, I was just out here drivin' along, minding my own business and what have you, when I saw your thingamajig was all outta dimes. You know unfortunately for you, as an employee of this great city, I gotta job to do. Nothin' personal."</p><p>"Nothing personal?" Sammy repeats, incredulous as he rounds on him, "That's <em>exactly</em> what it is you slimy bastard. The truck come with binoculars to see when my meter ran out?" </p><p>The sneer Sammy gives him is absolutely icy-- yeah, he's making a scene, and he hated to be 'that person' contesting a parking violation, but this was honestly absurd. If this wasn't the pettiest way to enact revenge, he didn't know what the hell was. </p><p>"Be honest, you were parked around the corner, weren't you? Got a timer on your phone?" The other man tears a receipt off to Sammy, who snatches it from his hand with a loud snarl.</p><p>"Believe you me, pal, you don't wanna know what I got in this here truck," Ernie smirks, really taking his sweet time hauling Sammy's car up onto the bed of his truck. "Just take your licks like a good little shmuck and get outta my hair."</p><p>Just then, across the way, Troy comes trotting down the steps of city hall right beside Gunderson. He catches sight of the scene Sammy is making and puts two and two together real quick, while Gunderson's gaze burns a hole through the back of his shirt. The sheriff's already in a foul mood, and he knows without even having to be told that he expects Troy to tend to whatever's going on over there. Troy would have done it even without his unspoken instruction. </p><p>Looking both ways before crossing the street like a good boy, Troy comes up behind Sammy, who looks like he's getting ready to eat the reciept Ernie just gave him as a power move, and puts a hand on his shoulder with a placid, "Hey, Sammy--"</p><p>It's an instinct from somewhere deep in Sammy's lizard brain, the quiet little alarm bells going off in the back of his head of a proximity alert. Maybe he saw Troy approach in his periphery, but when in the moment he absolutely did not realize anything of the sort.</p><p>"Do <em>not</em> touch me right now, man--" Sammy's entire body twitches as he shoves back against the hand that had found its place on his shoulder, whipping around only to realize too late who he'd tried to hit, "Jack in the box Jesus, <em>Troy</em>--"</p><p>Luckily Troy is a little quicker on the draw than Sammy, and ducks deftly out of the way of his wildly thrown elbow. It barely whiffs by his shoulder, but he feels the breeze off it for sure. That much force could have definitely broken his glasses, at least. </p><p>"I'm real sorry for startlin' you, Sammy," Troy says, without dropping his hand from Sammy's shoulder. "I just saw you gettin' agitated and thought I'd come over to help. What's goin' on here?"</p><p>"This <em>jackass</em> is towing my car for no goddamn reason," Sammy snaps, turning back to the issue at hand: Ernie Salcedo and his disgusting tow truck scam.</p><p>"You should take a look at the metery whoosy-whatsit before you go pickin' sides there, deputy," Ernie says, his voice oozing with false modesty. "I'm just your average joe doin' my average job, y'see?" </p><p>Troy takes a look at the meter and frowns at the sight of the numbers flashing back at him. "Now Sammy, you know I wanna be on your side all the time, but if the meter went dry... still, Mr. Salcedo, don't you think towin's a li'l harsh?"</p><p>"Eh," Ernie just shrugs, as the Prius officially clunks into place on the bed of his truck, and he starts to drive away. </p><p>As the truck pulls off the side of the road, Troy catches sight of Gunderson standing in front of city hall with his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face, and Troy's stomach drops out. His jaw flexes as he quickly looks away, and back to Sammy. </p><p>"Don't look now, but that twelve-gallon fella in a ten-gallon hat over there's liable to make your day a whole lot worse than it already is, Sammy," Troy says, his voice strained as he reaches out to take Sammy by the shoulder again, this time with just a little bit tighter of a grip. </p><p>"Jesus, Mary, and--" Even Troy's grip on Sammy's shoulder doesn't help him calm down, and he sneers over at Gunderson, despite Troy's warning, "Who is he and what the fuck does he want? Fine me for littering because I set my bags on the ground?"</p><p>"No, if I had to wager a guess, in about thirty seconds he's gonna come over here to take you in you for attemptin' to assault an officer his own self," Troy says, and he reaches down with his other hand to grab Sammy by the wrist. "See, his name's Gunderson-- and he's a real mean so-and-so. He's got it out for you, on account of you and Mayor Grisham not exactly gettin' along, so if he has his way, you'll be in a cell for contempt of the law. I suggest you play along with me." He twists Sammy's arm behind his back with remarkable ease, his other hand moving from Sammy's shoulder to the back of his neck. "Struggle a li'l, but not <em>too</em> much. I don't actually wanna hurt ya."</p><p>Sammy's entire stomach twists with his arm, and he makes a noise he's not entirely proud of as his shoulders hitch, eyebrows pulling low as a lot hits him, all at once.</p><p> "Troy, what--? <em>Assault?"</em> He yanks, pulling to try and look Troy in the eye. He was playing along but also serving his purpose, glancing over the officer's shoulder to catch a look at the ghost that was apparently haunting the City Hall.  "You're kidding me, right? I didn't assault anyone, I didn't even hit you!" And again Sammy tries to yank away, but this one was mostly for fun.</p><p>"I know you didn't, and <em>he</em> knows you didn't, but he also won't care," Troy says, marching Sammy towards the nearest car, right beside the empty spot that his prius had been towed out of, scruffing him like a kitten, like he weighs nothing, like he isn't a six foot tall adult man. "Gunderson's real cross with me on account of I just got Doyle Bevins off jailtime by talkin' the judge down to a fine and community service, after he t-boned Pete Meyers while under the influence. If he sees me let you go after damn near tryin' to break my nose, whether you meant it or not, there'll be hell to pay. Not to mention," he says, hooking his foot between Sammy's ankles and spreading his legs like it's nothing right in front of the car's hood. "if I don't do this, and he brings you in instead? You'll be a <em>whole</em> heck of a lot worse off."</p><p>Sammy's gut hits the hood of his car with a soft oof, and he turns to look at Troy again, blowing hair out of his face, "You know, I've never seen you from this angle before, deputy," He drawls, conversational. There was no reason he shouldn't trust Troy, and he wasn't actually hurting him. If he could say more, he was sure he would-- but for now, Sammy could play along, and maybe even have some fun. It'd sure be a nice change of pace from the sour pit Ernie left in his stomach. "It's not bad. Very intimidating. The glasses definitely help," He teases, craning his head a little and pushing back against his arms, as if trying to get a better angle.</p><p>"I've had my fair share of perps with a smart mouth, but I'll bet you'll be the smartest yet," Troy says, and Sammy feels a guilty little plunge in his stomach when he hears the jingle of cuffs, followed by the cold snap of steel closing around his wrists. </p><p>"<em>Handcuffs?</em> Really?" he smirks back over his shoulder. </p><p>"Just protocol, buddy," Troy says, and though he's doing everything in his power not to smile back since he can still <em>feel</em> Gunderson watching them, Sammy can see the humor in his eyes. "I didn't slam ya down too hard, did I? I forget how much leverage I've got, sometimes."</p><p>"Did you even slam me at all?" Sammy asks, sounding curiously naive as he leans back, putting up a bit of a fight again, "When was that?" He drawls smugly over his shoulder.</p><p>"Yeah, alright, tough guy," Troy says, his eyes crinkling with mirth as he pries Sammy back up off the hood and marches him towards his squad car just a bit around the corner. "I'll go back for your groceries in a sec, say somethin' real smartassey when we pass Gunderson here in a sec."</p><p>Together they walk past town hall again. While Sammy is hyperaware of the sheer commotion he'd caused, he was more focused on taking another look at the looming presence they were approaching closer by the second.</p><p>"--So what," Sammy starts, voice carrying as he yanks against the handcuffs he was being held by, "You arrest everyone having a bad day in this city, or what? Didn't know our taxes were paying you to babysit."</p><p>"Your <em>taxes</em> only pay me enough to march you <em>or</em> listen to you, I ain't got the patience for both," Troy says, putting on a tough act right as they pass by Gunderson. "Up to you whether you'd rather jaw on and get roadhauled behind the cruiser, or shut yer trap and get a nice cozy ride in the back." </p><p>Luckily he manages to shove Sammy into the back seat of the car just then, with a hand on top of his head to make sure he doesn't whang it on the top of the doorway, and he slams the door for good measure. He doesn't look back at Gunderson once on his way to go pick up Sammy's groceries, which he drops in the passenger's seat before sitting behind the wheel, but he has a feeling the old bastard's thirst for blood has been sated as he pulls off the side of the road and towards the station. </p><p>Once they're alone, he adjusts the rearview mirror in order to look back at Sammy, squirming to get upright without the use of his hands. "I'm <em>real</em> sorry about this, Sammy," he says, glancing back out at the road. "If it were up to me, I'd've let you go without a fuss, honest. You know I woulda."</p><p>Grunting, Sammy finally manages to wiggle himself upright on the seat, awkwardly grabbing onto a seatbelt for support, "Of course I know, buddy," He says tightly, jaw clenched, "Sad as it is, this is probably the best case scenario for the way today was going to turn out, so, thanks for not actually bruising my sternum."</p><p>"I'll make all of this up to you, I swear," Troy says. "I can get your car outta impound, no problemo. And that's just for starters. I feel just awful-- you know I got my car towed once, nightmare don't even <em>begin</em> to cover it. It was my first day of college, my ma had just drove off not an hour before and I come back outta the student orientation building to find them towin' my car cause I'd pulled six inches too far up into a bus lane! I called my ma in tears and that poor woman had to turn her caboose around and come right back to bail me outta a fine."</p><p>Sammy tips forward to brace one of his shoulders on the divider between the front and back so he can get a better look at Troy aside from just the line of his eyes, "I'd appreciate that, Troy, but honestly, I'm more worried they're going to try and pin some sort of bogus jail sentence onto me. You don't think they're <em>that</em> out for my blood, right? This was the entire reason I stayed out of political radio, I say one or two things about one small-town mayor and end up drawn and quartered. Just my luck."</p><p>"If Gunderson had his way, you'd probably be in for a couple weeks until I managed to stick it to the court that the claims are false-- but it'd still be a few weeks outta work and away from whatever other responsibilities you got. Ain't nobody wanna spend any amount of time in jail," Troy says, his hands flexing on the wheel. "Takin' you in myself, means <em>I</em> get to write the report, which means I can say you missed, and that I ain't pressin' charges. I still wouldn't even if you had'a hit me-- I know you wouldn't'a meant it."</p><p>"You know I didn't, Troy. I wouldn't've even meant to hit anyone, I just get a bit-- twitchy, when I'm frustrated, and I wouldn't put it past Ernie Salcedo to have a goon a couple cars down just in case someone tries to start something," Sammy sighs, trying to not jerk too much as the car moves, "But I definitely wouldn't have tried to hit you."</p><p>"I know that, good buddy," Troy says, with humor in his voice. "Fraid to tell you though, you're a hardened criminal, now. You ever been in the back of a squad car before, Stevens? You a repeat offender?"</p><p>Laughing under his breath, Sammy leans back a bit, further against the door. He can see more of Troy's profile this way, although that remains a happy coincidence, "I might have seen a couple in my day. Most of them not nearly as nice as this one, and I've gotta say I prefer the company better this time around by loads."</p><p>"If you think butterin' me up's gonna keep you outta a cell, you gotta 'nother thing comin'," Troy says playfully, and he can't help but smile now. "Don't you know we <em>punish</em> lawbreakers in King Falls, and assaultin' an officer-- shoowee if that ain't a <em>hefty</em> crime."</p><p>"Surely you can offer some leniency, officer," Sammy drawls, leaning forward in his seat, perched on the edge so Troy can almost-see him out of the corner of his eye, "I was in a state of duress. And I think we both agreed I didn't really assault you. At best it was an almost-crime."</p><p>"Almost only counts in horseshoes, son," Troy says, despite the fact that Sammy is nearly a decade older than him, trying and failing to keep from outright grinning. "I take the law <em>serious</em>, round these parts. You're goin' to the clink or my name ain't Deputy Troy Krieghauser." </p><p>He pulls up in front of the station and gently helps Sammy wriggle free out of his seat, followed by an annoying process of paperwork, just recording what had happened and writing the report, a process which frankly takes too much time as it is. He releases Sammy from the cuffs and then takes his fingerprints, types everything up into the computer system, and then finally stands up from behind his desk. </p><p>"Alright, now protocol is I gotta put you in a cell. Ain't exactly a measure of time in mind, seein' as I ain't pressin' charges, but we'll see how generous I'm feelin' when we get there. If you'd follow me, now."</p><p>"All this power's gone to your head," Sammy says, his voice grave as he rubs at his wrists. Troy had intentionally left them loose, but his skin was delicate, and there was only so much that could be done for chafing, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were asking me to beg for my freedom. I will, but I didn't take you for the type."</p><p>Troy can't help but giggle as he leads Sammy by the shoulder around the desk and through the back halls of the station, towards the holding cells. Nobody's in currently, so it's just the two of them when Troy opens one of the doors and escorts Sammy inside, closing the door once more behind him. He doesn't even lock it, he just leans his shoulder against the bars, crossing his arms and ankles with the swagger of an old cowboy. </p><p>"Mighty fine predicament you got yourself in here, Mr. Stevens," he drawls, laying it on intentionally thick. </p><p>Sammy glares playfully, crossing his arms behind the bars and making absolutely no move to sit or even touch anything from the cell, "I hope you're proud of yourself, Krieghauser. I trusted you to be cool, man."</p><p>Troy's grin spreads impossibly wider. "Oh, and you wrote the book on cool, didn't you Mr. Sammy 'Throwin Elbows' Stevens?"</p><p>"I might've written a book, maybe two," Sammy shrugs just one shoulder, looking tastefully unaffected, "The first rule is to not lock up your friends. You broke the first rule."</p><p>"Oh it's a <em>rulebook</em>, is it?" Troy licks his lips, still grinning. "What number rule is 'don't assault your law-officer friends' I wonder?"</p><p>"Rule 300, book three. Haven't found a publisher for it, so, still a plothole," Sammy sighs dramatically, finally caving and taking a step forward to lean one arm on the bars, "It'll eat me up inside, but technically I'm just fine, coolness-wise."</p><p>"Feelin'  more cooled off than ever now that you're surrounded by iron bars on all sides, I reckon," Troy smirks, mirroring Sammy's posture by slinging an arm over his head against the bars, making him appear even taller than he already is. Ghastly, in Sammy's opinion. </p><p>It's very seldom Sammy feels cowed by anything, but goddamn is Troy tall, and <em>goddamn</em> does he make Sammy feel every missing inch between their heights, "You know, it's strangely comfortable in here? I really thought I was going to hate it more, but between the atmosphere and the company, it's almost starting to look homey."</p><p>"I could always take one of those away," Troy shakes his head with a smirk. "See how cooled off you're feelin' after a li'l solitary confinement?"</p><p>"Or, I go without the <em>lovely</em> atmosphere. That will definitely learn me, I think, Deputy," Sammy says wisely. </p><p>"You want I should drape a big blanket over the bars so you can go to sleep like a bird?" Troy chuckles.</p><p>"Are you offering a blanket in general, because it might just be a bit nippy in here," Sammy's voice is simperingly nice, as he actually bats his eyelashes up at Troy, as if it would work.</p><p>Pushing away from the bars, Sammy raises his hands in the air as if exasperated, surrendering to his punishment, to the cage, to Troy, with a dramatic, prolonged sigh, "Fine, Troy! You win! I've learned my lesson. Send me on my way with a stern word and I promise I won't almost-break your sweet, cherubic nose ever again."</p><p>"Aw, you think it's cherubic?" Troy asks, reaching up to pinch his nose.</p><p>"Stop it, I'm trying to grovel," Sammy laughs, and then clears his throat. "Troy, it's the definition of. Really. I'm offering you a fully-changed man here. 100% rehabilitated."</p><p>"You promise? You <em>double</em> promise?" Troy says, tapping one of Sammy's hands by the knuckles, wrapped around the bars of the door. "If I hear you went on to throw hands at Ben, next..."</p><p>Sammy holds four fingers up in a salute, other hand over his heart, "Scout's honor. And you know how seriously I take that."</p><p>"About as serious as a clown on a unicycle, if I had to guess" Troy says, and opens the cell door again. "Alright, you're free to go, Sammy. I take it you'll be needin' a ride to go get your car outta the impound, but maybe we should swing by your station first to drop off all those supplies that've been sittin' in my car. Sure hope nothin' in there was frozen." </p><p>Sammy really feels it when Troy puts his hand on his shoulder this time to lead him back out to the car. It makes him feel like a skeeze for thinking it, but he wouldn't mind it terribly if Troy were to put him through the hood of another car sometime.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sammy didn't plan many things to great detail, but there were certain things he'd decided to take the time to seriously look at and determine the worth of. One such thing was how this little King Falls trajectory was going to go. It'd been almost a year; A wild, tumultuous year of... well, frankly terrifying shit, but a year nonetheless. </p><p>He'd anticipated the radio show, the icy welcome. He'd anticipated even making some surface-level acquaintances, seeing as people in small towns loved to know one another, and maybe even thinking of them in a friendly capacity. Sammy wasn't opposed to friends. He wasn't, however, expecting the hopeless devotion he grew to feel for the handful of people who had come into his life. Ben, of course, and Emily, too. Ron, Herschel, Chet-- and, yes, distractingly enough, Troy, too.</p><p>Troy Krieghauser, blissfully good-natured officer of the law who had managed to make one good impression after another on Sammy, throwing him for so many loops, he had to think it was intentional. But he knew better, there wasn't an intentionally malicious bone in Troy's body, nonetheless manipulative or conniving for any reason. Sammy had met plenty of men in his lifetime, but none stood out quite as poignantly as Troy freakin' Krieghauser. A fact made all the harder by the fact he was married. That stood out pretty poignantly, too, and yet did nothing to tarnish Troy's veneer. </p><p>Sammy spent the better part of the year combating his feelings, combating the butterflies in his chest and stifling urge to do all those horrifyingly cutesy things freshmen do to their sophomore crushes. He was determined to play it cool, and he had. Aside from the Loretta problem and their weird feud, everything was perfect. Unfortunately, the Loretta Problem was not small, and it kept getting worse.</p><p>It continued with a poorly-crafted petition to Merv, delivered by Loretta in person during the early hours of the morning. A flock of people at her side, without a station manager in sight, she was forced to deliver it to Chet, in person. Chet, who took one look at it and scoffed, then left it in the communal break room where-- unfortunately for Loretta-- Sammy saw it. And Sammy was not pleased.</p><p>King Falls AM always had advertisements in the local newspaper, for as long as King Falls AM needed listeners. The many shows on program took rotating turns advertising in the paper, and for as many years as Chet had been hosting Chet's Jazz Corner, his work had never been slighted. Except this time.</p><p>Now it was 'too sexual'. It was 'morally repugnant for a family-friendly service'. Chet's Jazz Corner, boasting the line, "Let me soothe your core with my warm Jazz" was crossing a line all the other morally-dubious advertisements didn't. Chet's advertisement was taken down, the newspaper crumbling under the weight of Loretta and her group's pressure when Chet would not. For the first day in decades, the newspaper did not run a King Falls AM ad. </p><p>The next day they would run a full-color, full-page  ad for Chet's Jazz Corner, featuring a full, glossy photo of the man himself, lounging on a fur rug with his shirt open, a drink and cigar in hand. </p><p>"So, you guys have heard what <em>I</em> think about my work in today's Gazette, let me hear what you do. Go ahead and call us on all the usual suspects, you can Tweet me, but, full disclosure, I'm just staring longingly into Chet's soulful, dark eyes. Again just go ahead and call us at, 424 - 279 - 3858," Grinning, Sammy winks across the desk at Ben, waiting for the lines to alight.</p><p>"Honestly, legendary, man. Frickin'. <em>Legendary</em>. Have you seen Chet's already got it framed in his room? If he still had working tear ducts I think he would have cried," Ben says. "But I'm pretty sure those dried up in the jurassic period. Line 4, you're live on King Falls AM!"</p><p>"Chet's not the <em>only</em> one with the ad framed on his wall, lemme tell you," Archie's voice comes through the line. "Where'd you even find a photo like that, Sammy? I know you didn't ask him to pose for it in person, you saucy minx, that photo's gotta be at least thirty years old, if not more. Be still my sexy old heart, I had no idea Chet was such a <em>meal</em> back in the day." </p><p>"Now, Archie, I think there's a very healthy line of constituents who would argue Chet is still a meal, or at the<em> very least</em> a snack," Sammy drawls, grinning at Ben as he leans back in his chair, "As for where I found it, unfortunately, the great journalists of our day never reveal their sources, so, I plead the fifth for this one... I was thinking of framing it, too. Maybe something gold, to match his rings, huh?" He's enjoying himself, like a kid on Christmas.</p><p>Archie isn't the only one to call in with their opinion on the newsletter. Mary Jensen calls to let them know she approves of their message, giving the puritans in town the middle finger, while warning them to take care with their methods, followed by Frickard calling in to loudly complain about how "nasty" the picture is and how they'd done him a physical attack by making him see it with his own eyes. Emily calls in to compliment Sammy's dedication to his friends and to fumble through charming, awkward flirtations with Ben like always. </p><p>They take a short break and when they come back, they're ready to switch topics leading into the top of the next hour, where they plan to start switching gears towards their nightly interview-- but that plan quickly derails itself when Sammy picks up like six, and Loretta's voice comes over the speaker. </p><p>"You think you're hilarious, don't you Stevens? You think you're so cute," she says, her voice barbed but otherwise even. "Good people rally together in our town to try and make it safer for the people who live here, and you just couldn't help yourself. You <em>had</em> to go and make an ass out of yourself. Tell me, is it just reflex, at this point?"</p><p>"Hi... Loretta," Ben greets deflatedly, sinking down in his chair, but she doesn't even acknowledge him. </p><p>"Take the ad out of the paper, or you'll be next, Shotgun," Loretta says. "You think you're such a smart ass, fighting back against the people who love this town? You're making enemies in all the wrong places."</p><p><br/>"Actually, I don't think 'smart ass' is a term I can give myself, I think it's only for others to apply to me," Sammy smirks, ignoring the way his heartbeat seems to ratchet up a beat once he recognizes her voice. Odd, how that works, but still he goes on, "That said, I just-- disagreed on what should be in our fine newspaper. I'm sure you can see how I might be sensitive to such blatant censorship." </p><p>Across the table, Ben is already wincing at the entire conversation, so Sammy offers him a rather unhelpful quirk of his head, the kind that says he's just going to make things worse, before going on, "I'm sure you're not threatening me with a petition, next, Loretta? That worked so well for you last time."</p><p>"You keep this up and you'll be getting much worse than just a petition," Loretta snaps. "You may not be aware, but I <em>know</em> people in this town. Important people. I have contacts, and I have news for you-- <em>they don't like you either</em>. So you can keep trolling for your shits and giggles all you want, but just know that the guillotine is primed and ready, Shotgun."</p><p>"Loretta," Ben groans, rousing out of his corpselike state. "Come on, it's... it was just a joke. Sammy didn't mean any harm-- probably."</p><p>"Of course you would defend <em>him</em>," Loretta snaps. "He's responsible for your paychecks in some part. I expected better from you, Arnold. Does your mother know you sold out your morality for a few bucks?"</p><p>"Uh-- first of all please don't bring my mom into this," Ben says, growing just a little more bold. "And second of all, having a job and getting a paycheck isn't just' a few bucks' and it definitely isn't <em>selling out.</em> I'm defending Sammy because what he did was <em>funny</em>. What you guys did was just... frickin' rude, man. Lady. Uh, Loretta." </p><p>"Oh, so if something is funny, it's permissible? That's the line? Something vulgar and unnecessary is 'funny', so it's totally okay," Loretta snipes, her tone sharp.</p><p>"Listen, you're taking this really personally, I can tell," Sammy interjects. "I didn't take out this ad just to piss <em>you</em> off, I did it to piss off <em>everyone</em> who thought it was okay to sign your stupid petition in the first place," Loretta sounds like she might have a retort, so Sammy is quick to continue, "Chet Sebastian has been a staple name in this town for a decade and some change, and only now you're finding an issue with that? You don't see why that might come across... mm, a little suspicious?"</p><p>Loretta laughs meanly. "You think we only have a problem with him <em>now?</em> Who do you think got his jazzy little den of iniquity moved to the ten-to-two am slot in the first place?"</p><p>"Ohhh, got it, got it, so you just wholesale feel like you have a right to dictate the morality of an entire town of people," Sammy nods, humming thoughtfully.</p><p>"It's all jokes with you two, isn't it?" Loretta snaps. "It's men like you that allow towns like this to backslide into depravity, you know."</p><p>"What exactly are men like us?" Ben asks. "Radio show hosts?"</p><p>"Men without any self-respect," Loretta quips back. "You're spineless, gutless, moral-less, and <em>wifeless</em>."</p><p>"Now, Ben, she's got us there. We are wifeless," Sammy says, voice pseudo-serious as he levies a deadpan look across the desk at his cohost, "I always wanted a wife.... someone to hold me, keep me warm at night, someone to <em>yell at me</em> in a goddamn <em>Safeway</em> over some chocolate milk-- that's the real married life, wouldn't you say, Loretta?"</p><p>That trips Loretta up, hook line and sinker. She splutters for moment in indignation before finding her foothold. "Broadcasting the intricacies of couples' lives all over the airwaves is really becoming like a fetish for you, isn't it Stevens?" she snipes, once her composure is firmly in her grasp. "Tell me, at what point did you give up on honest journalism and resort to petty eavesdropping to get your trivial little stories?"</p><p>"Now, there's where you're wrong," Sammy's voice goes stern, "That wasn't a <em>story</em>, or I'd have put it in with the regular programming. Ben can attest I did no such thing, since-- let's be real-- it's not really news. Now, if we wanna talk stories, I'm sure I could come up with one." </p><p>Leaning forward in his chair, Sammy gets that look in his eye that he can get when he's about to be, well-- a little mean, and he steeples his fingers together looking down at the microphone as if it were the woman, herself, "Follow me here, Loretta: an exposé. On the modern American housewife's utter lack of control over her own destiny, and how she seeks to reclaim it through every tiny, nitpicky facet of her life. How's that for journalism?"</p><p>Loretta goes silent for long enough that a creeping feeling of dread climbs up the back of Ben's throat, only for her to eek out a furious, trembling, "<em>Fuck</em> you, Stevens," followed immediately by the line clicking and going dead. </p><p>There's dead air for a moment as Sammy leans back in his seat with a sigh, and Ben looks over at him nervously. "<em>Whoa</em>, dude. You... you okay?"</p><p>A hand goes to Sammy's face, as he pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and his forefinger, taking a slow, steady breath, "Yeah, Ben. I'm fine. Probably shouldn't've went that-- <em>in,</em> on air. I'm sure there was probably a better way of doing that."</p><p>"Yyyeah, probably," Ben grimaces. "But I mean-- it's not like she didn't deserve it. She and her... puritan posse started it by going after Chet. The ad wasn't even <em>for</em> him, it was congratulating the guy who took over for me after I joined on with you for producing the Corner for a whole year! You know, it might just be a coincidence, but-- and I'm only saying this because he's openly out, I've talked to him myself about it-- he's trans. And... Chet's taken out salaciously worded ads in the past, dude, I've been the one to run them into the newspaper personally. That's all I'll say, you can put all the pieces together yourself."</p><p>Sammy has to resist the urge to audibly sneer into his microphone, but in the set Ben can see the disgust as it settles across his face, "I think-- we should probably head to a commercial break if we want to keep talking, so we don't make matters worse. Though I definitely do want to talk about this, so put a pin in it."</p><p>"I <em>totally</em> agree. Folks! We're gonna take a quick pause for the cause, and when we get back--" Ben starts, but he's immediately cut off by the sound of the hotline ringing on the table between them. He and Sammy share a look before he taps a couple buttons to patch the hotline into the studio audio. Before he can even open his mouth to greet the caller, Troy's voice comes through loud and clear. </p><p>"Now, fellas-- I'm a mite cross with you both. More than a mite, a tad. A <em>smidge</em>, even. What in the <em>world</em> makes you think you can talk to Loretta the way you just talked to her?"</p><p>"Wh-- Troy--" Ben blurts. </p><p>"No, no. You had your minute to say your piece. More than a minute, from what I heard. You listen to me now, I'm real disappointed in <em>both</em> of you. But <em>especially</em> you, Sammy. You oughtta be ashamed of yourself, makin'  her cry the way you did."</p><p>"Listen, Troy, I'm sorry if you got an earful because of what I said, but I stand by it. Loretta called into my show explicitly to shit on what I'd done. It feels a little convenient that she'd break into tears as soon as I make a point a bit too close to home." Sammy can feel his stomach sink at the tone in Troy's voice. He'd never heard him properly mad, not directed toward him, in any case, so to hear it now made him somewhat nervous for what was to come, "Honestly, what was she thinking? She doesn't get to censor me, too, buddy, no way."</p><p>"The only <em>earful</em> I got was her cryin' to me about all the nasty things you said to her," Troy says. </p><p>"But-- Troy! She--" Ben tries again, only to be once more cut off. </p><p>"Now, I know what ya'll are gonna say. She said nasty things too, and I don't doubt it for a second. I don't approve of what she did to ol' Chet, and she knows that, but I also can't control her, short of hancuffin' her to the radiator in the basement," Troy continues. "I can see you watchin' me from the stairs, Loretta, and you and I are gonna have a talk as well after you calm down a spell-- go check on your water now, steep the tea. Lord above," he mutters, turning his attention back to the phone and his friends. "I expected better of you two by now, I really did." </p><p>"She's <em>watching</em> you? Even right now?" Sammy can't help but laugh, it was like something out of a Steven King movie, "Come on, Troy, surely you can see this is dramatized. She's looking for sympathy because she tried to hit me on my own turf, and she failed, so now she needs to save face, that's all this is."</p><p>"That's <em>enough</em>, Sammy," Troy says, his voice dropping into a lower register than Sammy or Ben have ever heard it before, and it promptly pours ice over them both. "I know Loretta ain't perfect. I know she's had her fair share of troubles with the both of ya'll, but especially you, Sammy. I also know <em>you</em> ain't perfect. So before you come into my house and start criticizin' my wife for defendin' what she thinks is right, ask yourself if you ain't doin' the exact same damn thing. Both of ya'll are just fightin' for what you think is right in the world, and call me naive but I don't think ya'll's visions for the future even gotta be mutually exclusive. So the fact that the two of you are enemies is a <em>problem</em>. It's a problem for you, it's a problem for her, but it's <em>especially</em> a problem for me." </p><p>"We... we're sorry, Troy," Ben mutters, cowed. </p><p>"You fellas are my best friends in the world. Ya'll mean the world to me, you know that. But Loretta is my <em>wife</em>, and no amount of friendship is gonna have me sittin' idly by while the three people I love most in the whole world go for the jugular every chance they get," Troy says, his voice going softer, the way they're used to. "All I want is for ya'll to get along. But if that can't happen, I at least don't want ya'll <em>hatin</em>' one another. It just breaks my heart to pieces, seein' you guys fight like this alla time."</p><p>Sammy is quiet for a really long time while Troy speaks, furrowing his eyebrow and thumbing at the papers in his notebook. The righteous acid burning a hole into his chest still doesn't let him sit right with just acquiescing to Troy's plea, but-- It was Troy, after all, and Sammy had nothing if not a soft spot for Troy freaking Krieghauser. </p><p>"You're right, I'm sorry, Troy," Sammy says, his voice serious and low. His face is set into an invisible frown due to the radio waves, but his voice is the kind where you can hear it in his speech, and you can now, "I obviously let my previous run-ins with Loretta color my interactions with her, and I treated her poorly tonight. Extend our apologies to her, at the very least, would you Troy?" </p><p>His chest aches, the kind of icy pain that only comes from guilt, or frustration, or the bitter nerves of a fight-- Sammy was suffering some mixture of all three, so it looks like it's almost physically painful for him to even extend the apology in the first place.</p><p>"For all the good it'll do, I'll try," Troy sighs. "I ain't just upset with you two, so don't go feelin' singled out or nothin'. I'm boutta have a long talk with her, too. I love you fellas, and I'm... sorry for havin' done this on the air, but it only seemed fair after you-- well. It got started that waty anyhow. I'm gonna go check on her now. You fellas have a good night." </p><p>The phone line clicks dead, and Ben makes a half-hearted cut to commercial before taking his headphones off and reaching across the table to put his hand on Sammy's arm. "Hey," he says softly. "Hey. Coffee?"</p><p>Sammy is quiet, slouched against the back of his chair with the bridge of his nose pinched between his fingers again, and for a second he doesn't answer the question at all. When he finally does, it's with a slap against his thighs, a slow, steady breath leaving him as he nods. "Yeah, that-- sounds like a plan."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sammy didn't like feeling guilty. He didn't like lingering feelings at all, but more importantly, feeling like he'd wronged someone? That wasn't a good feeling, especially when the person didn't deserve it. People like Grisham, yeah, of course, they deserved to be wronged and Sammy slept fine. But Troy had only ever served everyone with honesty and kindness. The fact Sammy had messed anything up for him felt bad.</p><p>He could only imagine what sort of hell he imposed on that household, just because he couldn't bite his tongue. Loretta seemed intolerable when she wasn't actively being antagonized by him, with that sort of anger at her disposal, Sammy was almost certain he'd created a monster-- but it was a monster of his own creation. Maybe Loretta was nice, maybe Sammy could have changed her mind, before, encouraged her to open up to Troy's friends, but anything she could have been was most likely gone now. Because Sammy assumed he knew more than the people actually involved in the relationship. </p><p>Sammy frowns as he looks at his phone, wondering if there was even a point to messaging the good deputy. The past week's attempts at reconciling have been met with a series of the most bland, obvious avoidance tactics Sammy had ever seen. It hurt. But he couldn't let this stand. He couldn't let this weird, awkward tension continue because he'd fucked up. </p><p>Sammy stands on the side of the overpass just outside of town, leaning on the railing to the walkway. It was surprisingly quiet, considering he was over a highway, but small towns never ceased to amaze. Pressing 'call' on the contact, Sammy puts the phone to his ear, "Heya, buddy, I know it's your day off, but, ah-- are you doing anything right now?"</p><p>"Well... that honestly depends," Troy says, his voice carrying that same kind of mild, thinly-veiled melancholy that has been breaking Sammy's heart for a week now. "I'm not doin' much, honestly. But I don't get to not do much very often, so..." </p><p>Another pale, washed-out attempt at a potential excuse not to see Sammy. He doesn't want to avoid Sammy, he's one of his very best friends after all. But being near him lately has just filled him with all sorts of complicated feelings. On some instinctive level, he knows Sammy is right about Loretta's behavior, and she's only gotten more agitated since her and Sammy's feud had begun-- but he also loves her as much as he loved her the day they were married, despite all her flaws and misbehaviors. He's always thought there's nothing that could make him love her less, and he feels guilty for thinking that's still the case even while she's actively antagonizing one of his best friends in the whole world. </p><p>"It won't take very long, promise, but, ah-- okay, look, you're the only one that can help. I know I'm in no position to be asking favors here, but I'm at the overpass outside of town, it's gonna get late soon, and I blew a tire. I don't... actually know how to fix it, and every goddamn youtube video I watch moves too fast for me to figure out what to do," Sammy was a performer at his core, honestly, and he was really laying it on thick, sounding properly frustrated and embarrassed.</p><p>He hears Troy sigh softly. He knows Troy could never resist actually helping out when he can, and cars happens to be one of the few areas he's got a significant amount of knowledge in. And so he agrees, hook line and sinker, just like Sammy knew he would. He promises to be out at the pass in just ten minutes and tells Sammy to hold tight until then, and so all Sammy has to do is wait. </p><p>To his credit, even though their friendship is a bit strained at the moment, Troy makes it out there in good time. He pulls his car out in front of Sammy's and parks on the side of the overpass, turning his own emergency lights on to match Sammy's before climbing out of the car. </p><p>"Alright, I brought my whole tool kit," he says, heading to the back of his truck to fetch it from the bed. "Which tire's out?"</p><p>Sammy turns to face Troy with an apologetic look on his face, opening his arms in a little shrug, palms open, "If I say none, will you promise not to turn around and leave? I'll go slash one real fast if that's what it takes bud, but I-- had to see you."</p><p>Troy had honestly expected something like this. He drops back to his feet on the ground and levers up the back of the truck with a sigh. "I ain't fittin' to run away from you, Sammy. It's not that I don't wanna see you, it's just... well, you know. It's just complicated."</p><p>"I know it's complicated. I know," He admits, rubbing the back of his neck.</p><p>There's a pause, where Sammy wonders if he should even risk moving forward with this plan. Would it make matters worse? Honestly, calculated disinterest is maybe worse than whatever 'worse' could be. So, he clears his throat and gestures to the side of the overpass, to a small case of beer-- literally just one little six pack, of Coors Lite, even-- and a relatively-clean bit of concrete. </p><p>"I'd like to talk about it, Troy. I want to un-complicate it."</p><p>Troy peers at the beer and then back up at Sammy, putting together the plot laying before him. "So if I'm understandin' this right, you lured me out to the edge of town at eight pm by fibbin', just to sit on a bridge and drink beer with me?" Sammy's expression is nervous for a moment, but then Troy breaks into a grin. "Well, if that ain't the sweetest thing I heard all week. Crack one open for me, good buddy." </p><p>He sits down on the edge of the overpass, threading his legs through the bars there to dangle against the concrete and steel while Sammy takes the spot right beside him, popping the lids off a couple drinks for them both, passing one off to Troy. They're not exactly ice cold anymore, but the night is chilly anyway, so the lukewarm beer goes down pleasant.</p><p>Looking down over the empty highway beneath their feet, Sammy lets the silence hang between them for a moment while he figures out where to even begin. He nurses his beer, finally opting just to start.</p><p>"I want to say I'm sorry again, for starters. I really let my temper get away from me, and sometimes I really don't know when to stop. But I should have long before I even got to that point, so-- It's no excuse. I'm sorry, really," He admits, glancing over at Troy before turning back to the drink, taking a hefty swallow. Goddamn light beer.</p><p>"I know, buddy," Troy says, his tone insufferably understanding. "It's... well, it's not alright, but it's water under the bridge. I had a real long talk with Loretta that night too, and she's sorry, too. She'll be too proud to reach out and tell you herself, but she admitted she was actin' like a horse's bee-hind too. She said she still thinks what you did is stupid, but that it's one of your inalienable rights to be stupid if you wanna be."</p><p>"It is that," Sammy says, ignoring the cold feeling settling in his stomach at her words. </p><p>Looking back down over the highway, only the occasional car or semi passes beneath their feet, making Sammy huff a noise of near disappointment, "I was actually hoping to make amends with Loretta, on my own. I realized a big part of my animosity stems from just... not knowing her, very well. I'm used to everyone in King Falls being so open with me, I guess I got kind of thrown off when someone showed a boundary I wasn't used to," Smiling bitterly, he glances up at Troy, waving a hand, "Not-- blaming her, at all, I wish I could get away with that kind of privacy. Has she... always been like that? Since you've met?"</p><p>"Always been like what?" Troy asks, with a measure of earnest confusion that just about breaks Sammy's heart. </p><p>"Private. Compartmentalized," Sammy answers. </p><p>"Oh, shoot yeah. She's always been like that," Troy nods. "Said she took a huge risk, lettin' me into her life when she did, and thing ain't always been the smoothest of sailin', but I know Loretta like the back of my own hand."</p><p>She 'took a huge risk'. Sammy has to remind himself to take a breath, nodding instead of reacting, taking a drink of his beer instead of saying the first thing that came to his mind, "How'd you guys meet? Could you tell me a bit about her, or would that be weird?"</p><p>"Naw, I'd love to tell you about her!" Troy sounds excited, and takes another swig of his beer. "We met about five years ago, I'd <em>just</em> become a deputy, and she'd just moved here cause of low-cost rent. I met her the same way I met you, actually. Marcy Davis called the non-emergency number to report a movin' van that was doin' laps up in Sweetzer Forest, and Gunderson sent me to deal with it. I led her into town and didn't see much of her for a month or so, 'till we happened to meet at the First Annual Best Small Town In America Festival. She'd settled in, got a job, and we just got to talkin'. She seemed so dang... sad, first few times I met her. Like someone somewhere along the way just made her real small. So I wanted to do everything I could to make her feel better. I spent all day tryin' to make her smile, but she just seemed embarrassed by my antics." </p><p>As he talks, a faraway sort of smile crosses his face, like he's reminiscing on the fondest of memories. "Come supper time, I made her a bet. That if I could get her to smile, she'd have to give me her number. And if I could get her to <em>laugh</em>, we'd go on a date that Saturday. Almost broke her then and there, but she got all stone-faced and told me that the bet was on."</p><p>Sammy listens quietly to a story that sounds too cute to be anything involving Loretta. But Troy isn't a liar, so he believes him. It's hard to rationalize the two feuding ideals though, the flirtatious cop, the nervous newcomer-- he certainly knew how hard moving to King Falls of all places could be. </p><p>"Okay, so you made a cute bet," He says, encouraging Troy to go on despite the sour little note starting in his guts. Troy's entire face was lighting up, just at the opportunity to speak about his wife. It was sweet, honestly. Really cute. Sammy was definitely <em>only</em> happy for them. "Knowing you, you had her laughing by the next morning. How'd you do it?"</p><p>"Shoot, I had her laughing by the end of the <em>hour</em>," Troy's chest puffs up proudly. "During the first couple Annual so-and-so's, we had a mechanical bull setup. Jacob Williams ruined that on the second year when he snuck on without signin' the waiver first, and got his wrist busted when he was thrown off, so Grisham didn't bring it back for the third one fearin' a lawsuit-- uh, anyhow. I got in line with her and impressed the heck right outta her by stayin' on for 12 whole seconds, and then when I got thrown off, I went clear over the fence and landed right in the li'l koi pond the bull was set up in front of. Bullseye, kersploosh! Everyone was clappin' while she helped me outta the water, and she was laughin' like I ain't never seen someone laugh before. I got to win her a big stuffed animal that's sittin' up in our basement now, and I took her on our first date that weekend."</p><p>"And she always kept such close tabs on you? Monitoring your charges, accusing you with sleeping with every single person you meet, it's--" Sammy taps the butt of his beer against the metal railing, his feet swinging over the edge, "From the outside, Troy, it looks bad.  Has it just... always been like that?" Their story really is cute, like something out of a Christmas Hallmark special, but you never think those couples turn their marriage into a loveless partnership based on needless possession of another person.</p><p>"Well... no," Troy admits, tipping his beer back to finish it off. "But it wasn't her fault it got to the way it was. Not entirely. Someone did her real dirty, once. I don't really wanna go into all the details of her sordid past or nothin', but she was hurt real bad one time, and it made her the suspicious type. Over time, it just got worse. I don't really mind it none, on account of I got nothin' to hide from her. I'm not unfaithful, and it makes her feel good to know that for certain by checkin' my messages and stuff to see I'm not chattin' up other girls."</p><p>Sammy matches Troy, finishing off his beer and opening a round two for them both, taking the bottle from Troy's hand and setting it beside his, "So she has a sense of humor, it's just hidden. When did you guys decide to get married? How long had you been dating by then?"</p><p>"Well... only about six months," Troy admits. "We were head over heels for each other. My ma told me I was rushin' things, and some part of thinks she might'a been right, but we've stuck it out for half a decade now through good times and bad, just like you're supposed to in marriage, so we're doin' <em>something</em> right. My ma, bless her heart, was never the... best example, when it came to healthy marriages, so I think bein' young a shiny and dumb I just thought she didn't know better than I did. And Loretta, well she's about nine years older than me, so I figured if I didn't know somethin' was a bad idea, she <em>definitely</em> would. Not that us gettin' married was a bad idea, I'm just sayin', you know."</p><p>He takes a drink from the second bottle and rests his elbows on the cross-beam in front of him, rubbing his thumbs over the grooves in the glass. "She wore the most beautiful dress when we got married. This real pretty straight skirt-- like the kind that don't have any poof in it? Just like an evening gown, all covered in sparkles with a real long train. We met in july and got married that winter, so she wanted to look just like the snow itself outside climbed up to live on her dress."</p><p>That ugly little nauseous feeling rises in Sammy's gut again as Troy talks about his wedding day, and he gets mad at himself for it immediately. Jealousy over a married man talking about his wedding day is a new low of cynicism, even for Sammy, and he bears down on the feeling, refusing to let it settle in him for too long. That's what this talk was for, to convince himself she was good for Troy. Maybe he'd just been hoping it was actually all bad. Sure, some of it has to be attributed to the dreamy way Troy smiled at the memory, or the soft look in his eye as he speaks, but it sounded like a cute story in its own right. A cute story Sammy couldn't exactly sneer at.</p><p>"Again, you say the word if I cross any line whatsoever, but-- I always kinda took you for a guy who wanted kids," Sammy admits slowly, looking back at his beer, "Is there a reason that hasn't happened yet? Just never the right time to do it?"</p><p>"I do want kids, some day," Troy nods, running his thumb around the neck of the bottle. "But I just ain't really in a position yet where I can have 'em, much as I want 'em. My pay as a deputy ain't exactly bank, we're supported more by Loretta's paycheck than my own, and seein' as raisin' just one kid takes about five grand a year-- well, we just don't have the kinda money right now to do that in a stable sorta way. Loretta wants 'em somethin' fierce, but I'm also only 25, so I get nervous thinkin' about tryin' to raise a chitlin when I'm practically a chitlin myself." </p><p>Sammy nearly chokes on his beer. "You're only <em>twenty five?"</em></p><p>Troy is startled into laughter. "Well, yeah. You know Ben and I went to school together, did you think I was a whole mess older than him?"</p><p>"Well, no, I--" Sammy leans back, looking at nothing as he takes a moment to realize that was exactly what he'd thought. Twenty-five. Yeah, of course it made sense, but Troy had never held himself as a kid. It was easy to see the kid in Ben, he was small and loud and angry and liked to shout and freak out, he ate candy and ranted about musical theatre. That tracked. Troy, however, had to be the best example of a 25 year old fully-functioning adult that Sammy had ever seen. Certainly better than he'd been at that age. "Okay, I guess that makes sense. You just act... Mature, for your age," He manages, finally taking a slow drink of his beer to try and move on from the misunderstanding.</p><p>"Aw, well I 'preciate you sayin' so. Probably had somethin' to do with the fact that I hadda start growin' up and bein' the man of the household by twelve, after my pappy went to prison for the fourth time," Troy says, taking a swig of his own beer again. "Anyhow, Loretta and I got plans to have kids one day, but it's pretty abstract at the moment. She wants 'em so bad she'd rush right into it next week, heck <em>tomorrow</em> if I said we should start tryin', but I know what it's like to grow up with parents who don't really have the money to take care of you proper. I'd never wanna do that to another brand-new person, you know?"</p><p>Something clicks in Sammy, then, a realization he’s far too familiar with. He nods, slowly, swirling the beer in his bottle thoughtfully as he continues to look over the road.</p><p>“You know, as someone who has experience with that, it doesn’t really depend on the money, it’s just what the parents do with it,” He takes a long drink, “If you’re not ready to have kids, by all means, don’t. But I wouldn’t let something like money hold you back.” The silence that leaves them in is a bit more pregnant than he meant for it to be, pun not intended, so after a second he breaks it, uncomfortable, “It’s none of my business either, of course, it’s just— You’re a good man, Troy, and I think any kid you have would be... lucky, to have you.”</p><p>"Aw..." Troy ducks his head with a smile. "You're a real sweetheart for sayin' so, Sammy. I'm really lookin' forward to bein' a daddy one day. I wanna stick it to my own pappy, really rub his nose in it. Figuratively speakin' of course, I'd never bring the kids 'round the prison to meet him, not for all the money in the world. Loretta ain't never met him neither, and it's gonna stay that way."</p><p>"Honestly? If he didn't have a hand in raising you, I don't think he needs to be met," Sammy agrees, and raises his beer toward the officer before slinging it back, emptying it a bit earlier than he meant to. </p><p>"Oh, he had a hand alright," Troy mutters, draining his own second bottle with a sigh. "Both of 'em, in fact. Right upside my head every chance he got." </p><p>Sammy grimaces and clears his throat, and sets his second bottle next to the first, leaning back to look at Troy, frowning seriously, "Be honest. Is there any point in trying to make amends with Loretta? I would, if you think I stood a chance."</p><p>"Honestly? I don't know," Troy looks up at the dark sky. "It'd depend how you approach her. If you manage to keep the wit and barbs to a minimum, I think ya'll could manage to reconcile. I don't expect the two of you would ever be the best of friends, but Loretta can be a surprisingly understanding woman when she's not feelin' defensive. If you own up to bein' a jerk without bein' sarcastic, I think she'd give you another chance."</p><p>"Would that make things worse for you, though?" Sammy adds, voice gently probing, "I'll respect your wishes on this one, man, whatever you think would be best. "</p><p>"Worse for me? Naw. Worst that can happen is she chews my ear for an hour about what a jackass you are," Troy says, obviously teasing, but Sammy gets the feeling that he's absolutely not exaggerating.</p><p>Sammy laughs a bit, though it is admittedly a bit forced, "Thanks for coming out here, Troy. Even if you knew it was fake -- or especially, I guess-- I appreciate the chance to clear the air between us."</p><p>"You know I couldn't stay away from you," Troy says, reaching out to grab Sammy affectionately by the back of the neck. Good lord his hand is big. "What about you, though?" he asks, leaning back on his hands. "You come all this way just to ask about me and Loretta. You got any broken hearts you left behind when you moved to King Falls? Any ladies in your past?"</p><p>Sammy feels his skin crawl pleasantly at the pressure of the officer's hand on his neck, and he glances over at Troy before quickly looking away, shaking his head and laughing despite himself. It helped to diffuse the tension settling over his shoulders, at the least. With any luck he could fake confidence until he felt it, "I only got one beer left each, and I gotta feeling I pushed my luck getting you to drink the first two."</p><p>"If that ain't the most boldfaced attempt to avoid answerin' a question I ever saw," Troy grins. "Tell you what, you want me to finish this pack off with you, you gotta gimme <em>some</em> kinda tidbit about your past. I know you like keepin' it all locked up tighter'n a safe, but I just laid my whole heart bare to you, Sammy. Throw an old dog a bone."</p><p>Sammy pulls a face before tugging his third beer out of the pack, opening both of them and setting Troy's next to him. Seeing as they weren't in a rush, Sammy takes his time opening his bottle. "Since I have no other choice, yeah, I guess there was someone. We had a radio show together through college," He says with a slight smile, raising his bottle toward Troy, "We're not together anymore."</p><p>"That's a pity," Troy says, sounding earnestly disappointed to hear about Sammy's lack of a love life. "You'll find someone else, I just know it. You're way too charming, funny and good-lookin' to be single forever. Someone's gonna come along and snatch you up, just you see. Might even be someone you already know in town, just lyin' in wait until the right moment."</p><p>"Spoken like a man with insider information," Sammy drawls with a roll of his eyes, "Listen, I'm all ears unless it's Archie. That is really not my scene," He admits, nudging Troy's bottle closer to him expectantly, "But hey, you wanna keep talking up the good things about me, I'll keep my ears open." </p><p>Troy accepts the third bottle finally and takes a swig with a chuckle. "Naw, I don't have any special knowledge. But you know I'll always chat up anyone with an ear about how special you are. Both to me and just in general."</p><p>"That means a lot, Troy. I'm sure your word goes a long way in this town, I'll make sure not to besmirch your reputation too much," He says. This time when Sammy raises his bottle to Troy, the officer is able to click it with his. "Also, do yourself a favor and add a disclaimer to them, so they don't get pissed for misrepresentation, huh?"</p><p>"I'm hurt and offended that you think I'd misrepresent you," Troy fake-gasps, a bit of color rising to his cheeks. A good christian boy like him doesn't drink much or often, so three beers is enough to make him feel happy and dumb-- something a deputy isn't allowed to be, very often. Sammy makes him be a lot of things he's not allowed to be, he's found-- and he kind of likes it. Around Sammy he gets to be silly, and stupid, and sometimes nothing at all. Which, on occasion, is his favorite thing to be. </p><p>The two of them collect their empty bottles amidst giggles (mostly from Troy) who Sammy can't help but feel endeared to over his dumbass wheezy snorts, but as soon as he starts back towards his car, he feels that big hand clap him around the neck again. </p><p>"Where do you think you're goin', buddy?" Troy asks. "You just drank three beers, you think I'm gonna let you get back in your car?"</p><p>"Oh, I'm sorry, was it me who almost tipped over while standing up, or you? Because I'm pretty sure I'm fine," Sammy says slowly, turning to face Troy. He was standing a little closer than strictly necessary at this point, close enough that he could feel the inebriated warmth pouring off of Troy. The hand on his neck was distracting, despite three beers barely being enough to even get him out of bed in the morning. It was almost as if he didn't actually need the help to get distracted. At least when it came to that hand on his neck. </p><p>Gingerly, Sammy raises his hand to pluck Troy's off of his neck, patting it sympathetically between his palms, "I appreciate you looking out for me, Troy. But how about we just keep this our little secret, hm? No one will even have to know you let a perfectly sober man drive himself home."</p><p>"No can do, bud," Troy says, slinging his entire arm around Sammy's neck instead. "You and I are gonna have to walk back into town, I'm afraid. At least far enough we can get signal and call for someone to pick us up. The cars'll be safe here 'till tomorrow, I'm sure you can get Ben to drop you off so you can drive it back in the mornin', but there ain't no way in heck I'm lettin' you get in that car tonight."</p><p>"You're joking," Sammy challenges, leaning back into Troy's arm while simultaneously trying to pull away. Raising a hand, two fingers settle on Troy's chest as he actually pushes at him, brows furrowed, "I'm not going to leave my Prius here to be stolen by whatever Rando crosses the overpass-- and Ben? Are you kidding me? And give him that fuel? Absolutely not."</p><p>"Don't leave the keys in the ignition and it won't be a problem," Troy says. "This is <em>your</em> fault, mister. You shoulda thought of this before you lured me all the way out into the middle'a nowhere to imbibe. Teach you a lesson, I bet."</p><p>"Yeah, teach me not to hang out with you for <em>fun</em>," Sammy grouses melodramatically, shuffling out from under Troy's arm, "Can I say goodbye to her, at least? I'm leaving her out in the cold all night." He manages to take two large steps toward his driver's door.</p><p>"I'm not fallin' for that," Troy catches Sammy by the back of the collar. "You can blow her a kiss while we walk in the <em>other</em> direction."</p><p>Sammy clicks like an angry cat, swatting at Troy as he catches himself short, not trying to pull his shirt any more than the officer already had, "Why did you even drink if you were going to make us walk back to town?"</p><p>"Maybe I was lookin' forward to taking a walk with my very good buddy Sammy," Troy says with an earnest, if slightly dopey smile.</p><p>"You could walk next to my Prius as I drive it. She's silent if I go under 10 miles an hour," Sammy grouses, but plugs forward, anyway. Two miles outside town and stuck currently in the final glow of a streetlight, the pair was destined to be walking for at least 30 minutes as it was. Why prolong the torment? "I'm not calling Ben, though," He adds, crossing his arms at his chest, looking the part of a caricature as he sulks down the street, "Maybe Emily."</p><p>"You call whoever you're gonna call, let's just enjoy the night," Troy says, hooking his hands into his pockets as they start the long trek back into town. The night might be a bit chilly, but they're well dressed and the company is more than fine. Sammy even stops putting up the token struggle after a while, and before they've even made it halfway back into town, they're laughing and joking together just like always, like none of the unpleasantness with Loretta even happened. </p><p>Troy drops Sammy off at his apartment and bids him good night, and then begins the side trek home to his own house-- where he anticipates a wordy scolding from Loretta about being gone for well over two hours after allegedly just going to help someone change a tire, and then coming home carless. But even the approaching grilling isn't enough to take the shine off a wonderful evening.</p><p>Not one to waste time, Sammy doesn't. Within two days he's prepared a plan, and the next day it goes into action. Does it require him being awake and coherent during 'normal people hours' after a night of not sleeping? Yes, it would. But if a mere 48 hours without sleep was all it took to make things any semblance of 'okay' with Loretta,  then Sammy would bite that bullet. Maybe not gladly, he'd hate to get carried away-- but he was going to apologize. That was the important thing.</p><p>He shows up at Troy's house at a very reasonable 11:30 am, after hoping to god she'd be home. Her car is in the drive (Sammy's become all too familiar with its make and model) and he pulls into the driveway behind it. A tray of what looks like chocolate chip cookies in his hands as he approaches the door. Troy should've been off for a few hours now, enough time to take a nap and then start the myriad of chores Loretta composes for his days off.</p><p>Pausing, Sammy has to remember to take a breath right away; This is to make things better, not worse. So he knocks on the door, tray of cookies in his hand, and then rings the doorbell twice, for good measure.</p><p>He's left standing there for a while before finally he sees some movement through the glass panes in the front door, and sure enough Loretta appears a moment later. She squints at him through the windows before opening the heavy oak door a crack to frown at him. </p><p>"What are you doing here, Stevens?" she asks flatly. "Troy isn't awake yet."</p><p>"I'm not looking for Troy. I'm looking for you," Sammy holds the tray of cookies higher, gesturing towards them with his chin, "I brought my vegan, gluten-free cookies as a sign of goodwill.  They're basically good for you, they're so healthy," He admits, smiling. He hopes it looks sincere.</p><p>She looks incredibly suspicious as she glances him up and down, as if looking for a concealed wire or weapon, before she finally stands away from the door and opens it for him. "Put them on the table," she instructs as she leans backwards against the back of the couch, crossing her arms over her chest. "You have exactly two minutes before I toss you out on the sidewalk, so make them count."</p><p>Sammy does as told, clearing his throat once put on the spot: "It's not going to be as dramatic as all that, Loretta. I dropped by to say sorry, that's all.  I'm sorry for speaking about your relationship with Troy on the air, I'm sorry for humiliating you on such a public record-- I'm frankly sorry for all of it." Those heavy shoulders rise, then lower into a shrug, palms open at his side, "I'm not a part of your relationship. It's pretty clear I don't know anything about it, but what I do know is that Troy really loves the hell out of you, so you can't be that bad. I'm sorry for not thinking that through before."</p><p>He points at the tray of cookies, "They won't fix whatever our friendship could've been, but I'd like to move forward. If not as friends as... acquaintances, both with the best intentions for Troy. A coalition, if we're being bold. For Troy."</p><p>Loretta's angry expression slowly fades into something more neutral as Sammy prostrates himself in front of her, and then shifts from neutral into mild suspicion as she looks from the cookies to Sammy, squinting slightly at him. </p><p>"You brought me cookies," she starts slowly. "To try and convince me to be on my own husband's side?"</p><p>"Not to be on his side. To let <em>me</em> be on his side, too," Sammy explains, a little awkwardly, "I don't want to fight you, Loretta, and I also don't want to stop being Troy's friend. The cookies are to hopefully smooth things over between us so that maybe we can go back to living without the active antagonization on both our sides."</p><p>"You're calling a truce," she clarifies, and he nods slowly. She gives a soft little "Hmph," and then closes in on the cookies, opening the tupperware while watching him like a hawk. She breaks one of the cookies in half and takes a single bite out of it, and he watches as she scrutinizes the flavor for a torturous few seconds, as if she'll decide whether to call off the war with him based entirely on his baking skills. With her bite taken and considered, she puts the rest of the cookie back in the box for later, and closes the lid again before leaning back against the kitchen counter and crossing her arms. </p><p>"Fine," she says at last. "You and I can call a truce. For Troy's sake, and only for Troy's sake. God help me, I don't know what he sees in you, but I know you make him happy. For <em>his</em> sake, I will agree to this truce, but if you so much as mention my name once more on the radio, so help me God--"</p><p>"Hey, we're calling truce, remember," Sammy urges, "I'll keep your name away from the radio, but in turn you gotta call off your goonies. No more triple-checking my bags, no more stalking my meters or holding my FedEx packages until just after I leave, I know that was you, too," He's not surprised that the cookies satisfy-- he had it on good authority that those were the best vegan, gluten-free chocolate-adjacent cookie out there.</p><p>Sammy holds his hand out, after just a moment of consideration. It almost seemed like he thought Loretta might bite him if he was so bold as to stick his hand out, "You had it right when we first spoke, Loretta. We'll stay in our lanes, you as his wife, and me as his friend."</p><p>"Fine," she says again, and reaches out to accept his handshake. "You stay in your lane and I'll stay in mine."</p><p>It's easily the most frigid of handshakes Sammy has ever gotten in his life-- but also one of the most triumphant. He drives away with a bit of hope in his heart that even if things aren't going to get better between him and Loretta, at least they probably won't get worse. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Actions have consequences, that's what everyone says. If you can't take the heat, stay out of the kitchen, what goes around, comes around-- honestly, the clichés never cease when it comes to karma, and Sammy has, at this point, experienced every last one of them. He was snappy with someone in a public setting, he got yelled at, had to bare himself and eat crow to both his friend and his friend's miserable  wife, and now it was almost 10pm on a Thursday night and Sammy Stevens was walking back into town from the Radio station, underdressed for the brisk April weather and annoyed.</p><p>His Prius was some way behind him, one slow start at a slick red light making his entire console flicker, then short circuit, before going entirely dark. Frankly, it was pure luck he was going slow and it was slippery out, or Sammy would have never been able to push his car to the curb on his own.</p><p>Worse still, he should have anticipated this happening. After that heart to heart with Troy, Sammy had returned the next morning to find his interior soaked with rainwater, the nighttime thunderstorms unforgiving for one emotional, forgetful city-slicker who had left his windows open just an inch too much. Although his car had started and operated for almost 5 days with only the occasional flicker of the dashboard, his time had come. His prius was dead.</p><p>Sammy crosses his arms over his chest, phone clutched tightly in nearly-numb fingers as he looks at his phone, "Of course it'd be too much to ask for anything but bars to be open after dusk on a weekend," He sneers at the directory, flipping through page after page, each number declaring their business to be closed. </p><p>After calls to Ben, Emily, Troy, and even <em>Pete Meyers</em> had all gone to voicemail, he's left just trudging along in the freezing cold hoping for even one business to be open so he could duck in and rub some of the frost out of his knuckles before finishing the trek back to town. At least he has an excuse to miss work for tonight, if he had made it any further up the mountain than he did then he knows Ben would have argued for him to finish the walk to the station, but as it was, it was a shorter walk back into town. Even if that "shorter" walk was going to be thirty minutes as opposed to forty-five. </p><p>He's just getting into actual shivers territory when he hears the friendly "bwoop-boop!" of a cop siren along with a single flash of red and blue lights, and he looks back over his shoulder to see a police cruiser pulling up right along the shoulder beside him. The tinted window slides down, and sure enough Troy's face is unveiled before him. </p><p>"Sammy? Well hey, here I was 'bout to scold a hitch hiker about the dangers of walkin' alone at night. Naw, I'm still gonna scold you-- what the heck do you think you're doin, mister?"</p><p>"Well, that's good timing," Sammy admits, drawing to a pause as he squints, looking into the police car and beyond. He ducks his head to look inside better, seeing the familiar silhouette of Troy Krieghauser's face in the front seat.</p><p>He keeps himself wrapped up tight, arms locked in place across his chest-- It would take longer to thaw at this rate, but he was too cold to care, "You let me in, and I'll tell you everything you want to know," Sammy offers, haggling despite the slight shiver which has begun to work its way down his spine and into his ice-cold extremities.</p><p>"Shoot, of course I'll let you in," Troy says, leaning across the center console to unlock and open Sammy's door, while he rolls the window up with his other hand. As soon as Sammy is seated, Troy cranks the heaters up and turns the blowers in his direction to start blasting him with hot air. He pulls off the side of the road and back onto the asphalt with a click of his blinker, and starts back in towards town. "Spill those beans, Sammy. What in god's name were you doin' on the side of the dang road in the middle of the night?"</p><p>Sammy lets out a heavy breath of relief, putting his hands palm-up toward the blowers, "Remember I told you, it'd rained that night we left our cars on the overpass," He explains, even as the inside begins to go from 'comfortable' to sweltering-- Troy was usually very good at keeping his spaces comfortable, but if Troy was alright with the sacrifice Sammy wasn't going to correct him, more than happy to have an abundance of warmth, "It rained on my console. I didn't think it was that big of a deal, there was just some flashing, sometimes. Next thing I know, I go to take a turn and.."</p><p>Leaning back in the chair, Sammy gestures, hopelessly, to the road, "Stranded without a car, again. And no one was answering their phone, so I got to walk. Lucky me."</p><p>Troy's eyes widen as he glances from the road over to Sammy. "Aw hell, your car went kaput cause of me? Shoot, I'm real sorry, I had no idea. You gotta lemme help you with whatever bills you get. Tow trucks and mechanics ain't cheap, I feel just awful."</p><p>"Don't be ridiculous, Troy, a ride into town during my hour of need beats any amount of money. Besides, I think I'll have to send it in, which means it wouldn't be cheap. I'd take the ride, if I were you," He teases, his fingers finally moving from the vents to his thighs, beginning to rub himself down, regaining sensation in his limbs.</p><p>"If you were me, you'd insist on at least goin' halvsies, cause that's what I'd do-- what I <em>am</em> doin'," Troy says, giving Sammy a serious look. "I was the one who made you leave your car out there, and now you're gonna have to pay an arm and a leg just to get it back on the road-- that's my fault. Lemme help, Sammy."</p><p>"You are helping, Troy. You're giving me a ride to the nearest open car shop. Or back to the Station if there isn't one at this time of night," Sammy rolls his eyes, "Besides, you made me leave the car on the side of the road, but no one made me leave the windows open all night, when I knew it was probably going to rain. It rains every night in the Spring. I still left my windows open. It was sloppy work all around, Krieghauser," Sammy's voice goes faux stern, like he could drive his point home with humor.</p><p>And deflection, as usual, "So what, you having a slow night? Thought you'd drive by the Station and make sure we're all alive in there?"</p><p>"Slow night for sure, but I was just makin' my rounds like usual," Troy says, squinting at Sammy through his glasses. It's clear he won't let the matter drop so easily, but for now he'll let it rest. "It was just luck I happened by when I did, I almost didn't come down this road. You know--"</p><p>He's cut off by the sound of an engine revving, and tires squealing, and then they're both flashed by headlights so bright they blind Sammy for a moment, but Troy stares it down unflinchingly, even as a car goes hurtling over a small hill with such speed it catches several inches of air before slamming back down to asphalt and screaming by Troy's car so nearby that it takes his rearview mirror clean off. </p><p>"Aw HELL no--" Troy slams on the brakes and pulls a tokyo-drift style half donut U-turn smack in the middle of the road, slamming his hand down on the button to turn on his lights and siren. "Sammy, buckle your seatbelt! We're boutta take a big ol' detour!" he shouts, before laying on the gas and peeling after the speeding car. </p><p>The police scanner immediately lights up with words, both Troy talking to the dispatch and dispatch talking back, explaining the officers already in route, the steps that are already being taken, and the path Troy should take to be the most help. Sammy, for his benefit, yanks at the buckle and quickly clicks the lock into place, his heart ending up somewhere in his throat.</p><p>"You probably shouldn't have me in the car, right?" Sammy manages on one whip-crack sharp turn, Troy's car skidding on the asphalt, "That's against the law or something, right?"</p><p>"Against the law? No," Troy says, turning off the heater so he can hear the radio better as it chatters with words Sammy couldn't begin to comprehend, as if they're speaking another language. "Ill-advised as all hell? You bet your bottom-- so keep that belt <em>buckled</em>. There ain't time to letcha out, I'm afraid! White-knuckle the seat and hold on!" </p><p>He skids around a corner and lays on the pedal again, inching towards the offending car, and then cusses softly and clicks his radio on. "Yeah, I got eyes on it! It's Williams, alright-- I'd bet the farm it's Jacob. You in pursuit, Lynch?" </p><p>More chatter that Sammy can't parse comes over the radio as Sammy does exactly as he's told, sinking his fingers into the seat. It isn't exactly a surprise to him that Troy's an officer, he's literally known that since day one. He's even heard him in action a couple times, both on the radio and off-- but he's never <em>seen</em> Troy like this before. He's never been right up beside him like this when he's angry and practically speaking in tongues and breathing fire into the police scanner.</p><p>Sammy had popularly been described as having an "issue" with authority in the past, railing against political figures and even people he simply wasn't a very big fan of. He thought cops should pay for their coffee and if he didn't want to put his hand on his heart for the pledge, he didn't fucking have to. </p><p>Seeing Troy tear down the street after Jacob Williams, Sammy wondered if he might have to reconsider that position. One hand clutching the "oh shit" handle overhead to keep himself upright, Sammy's bicep strains as he keeps his eye halfway on the road, halfway on Troy, who doesn't seem to be having nearly as hard of a time remaining upright as the radio host did-- In fact, he seemed to be moving perfectly in tandem with the car, shifting side to side with the turns, no matter how abrupt they were.</p><p>"What's the plan, here?" Sammy manages, meanwhile, trying to sound cool while biting back nausea. It was a talent, sounding as deadpan as he did, but these circumstances definitely put a strain on his abilities.</p><p>"Corral him towards the I-90 so Katie can cut him off at the pass," Troy says, raising his voice to be heard over the squealing sirens. "Deputies Gladd and Bird are already putting up a roadblock, we just gotta make sure Jacob <em>makes</em> it there. If he turns off early I've gotta steer him back onto the main road."</p><p>"Oh is that all?" Sammy says nauseously as the car catches a couple inches of air going over a short hill in pursuit of the Williamsmobile. </p><p>Something comes over the radio that Sammy couldn't even begin to understand. Gathering information from the crackly, unclear ether the radio spouts must be a learned talent, because Troy responds without missing a beat, "10-4, Bird, I'm still in pursuit. Williams comin' in hot, ETA 6. Fasten your britches and get a damn ambulance on standby for when I wallop the snot outta Jacob." </p><p>"Pardon my French, but <em>goddamn</em> deputy Krieghauser, I've never seen you so eager to hit someone before," Sammy chides, laughing a little breathlessly. His cheeks are a bit flushed, high on the bone, whether due to exhilaration or the tight ache of hunger that deepens every time Troy growls into the radio. Which is often.</p><p>Troy doesn't even flag at that, like he might usually when his aggression is brought into focus. Instead he just slams on the brakes and throws the car into neutral so he can tokyo-fucking-drift around a corner when Jacob takes a sharp left onto a dirt road, kicking up dust clouds behind him in Troy's face. He whips on the windshield wipers to combat it and barks, </p><p>"Jacob Williams gets my blood up somethin' fierce, Sammy-- I'm bringin' him in tonight, mark my words-- I've had just about enough of takin' it easy on him."</p><p>"Consider them marked, buddy, I don't think anyone would fight you on that-- I'm cheering you on," Sammy manages to reach over to pat him on the shoulder twice, before his hand goes back to the armrest, nails digging into the cold leather with a creaking sound, "Remind me later to ask where you learned to drive like this, I'm sure we could do a segment or something," He asks, sounding a little giddy, clearing his throat, the dust creeping in through the vents and the windows as they rattle and bump down the dark country road.</p><p>Troy manages to pull out ahead of Jacob just barely, their cars so close to one another that their doors scrape on Sammy's side-- but it's all Troy has to do in order to send Jacob scurrying back onto the main road at the next opportunity, and Troy pulls back onto blessed asphalt right on his tail. </p><p>"I swear, I've half a mind to hang out the window and shoot out his doggone tires," Troy growls as he lays on the gas hard enough to knock Jacob's rear fender with his front bumper, causing him to swerve slightly, but he manages to correct without spinning out. "If Gunderson wouldn't already have my head for losin' the mirror, I'd be fixin' to do just that!"</p><p>They blast past a sign for the I-90 and Jacob tears up the turnpike right on schedule, hoping to lose Troy on the highway, but sure enough there's a blockade set up for him at the top of the ramp. In a panic, Jacob tries to throw his car in reverse to head back the way he came, but Troy swings the back of his car around to park sideways on the ramp, blocking Jacob from escaping. </p><p>Jacob's car door opens, but before he has a single boot on the asphalt, Troy is already unbuckled and on his feet, and before Jacob has a chance to launch himself on foot over the side of the ramp and into the trees lining it (a fall that would have been at least 20 feet if he hadn't managed to snag the branches of the trees like a monkey) Troy catches him by his belt and the back of his shirt, and swings him around like a purse, back on his feet on the road. He marches him directly back to his car and slams him down on his belly on the hood. </p><p>The entire car shakes from the impact of Jacob's body hitting the hood, and Sammy wonders if he'll have to worry about a dent in the hood of his car, too-- but his thoughts are distracted as Troy bears down on Jacob, hitching his arms farther behind his back. Sammy can hear Jacob hiss and spit from inside, the high-pitched twang of his pained yowling unmistakable amongst the chorus of sirens and Troy's own sharp, barking voice. </p><p>It looks absolutely  lewd from this angle, though Sammy certainly knew from experience that it felt equally as explicit as a participant. Had that been what it'd looked like when Troy had pinned him to his car? Arms behind his back, Troy's knee between his-- god help him.  </p><p>One hand on the back of Jacob's neck while the other yanks his arms around, Jacob wails, "My rights! Wait! You gotta read me my rights!"</p><p>"You KNOW your rights, Jacob!" Troy quips back as he shifts his grip from Jacob's neck to his wrists in order to cuff him. "I read 'em to you damn near biweekly!"</p><p>Sammy feels his entire stomach tighten as Troy reads Jacob his Miranda rights, and yanks him up again, remembering all too well how that felt, as well. Although the car had been stopped for minutes, Sammy's fingers are still white-knuckled on the armrest, his body still tense like a coiled spring as he tries desperately to breathe, and regain some semblance of control. He really shouldn't pop wood in Troy's fucking front seat. </p><p>Troy passes Jacob off to Katie with an apology and an explanation that he has Sammy in his car. Katie gives Sammy a confused but amused little smile and wave, and then ushers Jacob into her car, pushing him down into the back seat as the sirens are finally, blissfully shut off. </p><p>Sitting heavily down in the drivers seat, Troy sighs heavily, and flips his own sirens off as well, pulling off to the side of the road to let the rest of the blockade drive past and back into town. He takes off his hat and tosses it onto the dashboard, running a hand through his sweaty hair before glancing in Sammy's direction. There's dust on his face from where it was kicked into the cockpit of the car during the impromptu chase during the unpaved road, and he looks like a deer in the headlights in the dim dashlights of his car. </p><p>"I'm real sorry about this, Sammy," he says, reaching out to brush the dust off Sammy's cheek with his thumb. "You holdin' up alright?"</p><p>It's like he's been electrocuted, the sensation of Troy touching his skin after such a show making his entire stomach tighten and a hard, sudden bark of laughter leave him, "Alright?" He asks, "Troy, that was incredible." Sammy's voice is breathless as  he catches the deputy's hand with his and leans forward, pinning it to the center console. He can't help it, he wants to chase the touch, the source, right in front of him. </p><p>His arms ache from the memory of being roughly handled, and he  grins as his other hand reaches forward for balance onto Troy's thigh, finding its way a solid 4 inches too high to be entirely innocent. Sammy feels his fingers squeeze into his leg, feels his body twist to look at Troy, his stomach clenching as their eyes meet.</p><p>"I'm glad you weren't hurt, I know I was takin' some pretty hard turns there," Troy says, and the casual nature of his voice brings into sudden, sharp focus for Sammy exactly what he was about to do. Instinct was drawing him in like a magnet-- he wanted Troy to ruin him over the hood of a car like he did Jacob Williams-- like he did <em>him</em> not so long ago. He wanted his very, incredibly married friend to fucking execute him face-down. Jesus H. Christ he needs to pour some cold water on himself and quick. He sits back in a hurry-- quick enough that it seems like Troy didn't read into the sudden, instinctive closeness he'd chased before he could stop himself. </p><p>As he pulls back onto the road, oblivious to Sammy's throbbing stomach and racing heart, Troy chuckles, "I'll think about what you said about my drivin', though. How I learned wasn't entirely legal."</p><p>"If you're telling me King Falls has an illegal racing circuit, maybe it's best if I pretend like I don't know. The last thing I need to do is piss off that side of town," Sammy's glad that his mouth has an autopilot at the least, as his brain tries to actively think of anything other than Troy, other than what just happened, other than what <em>could have</em> happened. Puppies. Aliens. Bugs. Anything he could think of that would take his mind off of that lurching hunger deep in his gut that wouldn't shut up.</p><p>Even now, as Troy's driving, Sammy has to watch himself as he takes in the sight of him driving, "Will I need to make a statement, or, uh--?"</p><p>"Naw, this one's open and shut," Troy says, reaching out to pluck his hat off the dash again, fixing it forward on his head. Sammy has to wonder if Troy knows the way his forearms flex when he moves. "I'll drop you off home real quick, then I gotta go report the damage to my mirror. Gunderson's gonna wring me out but good for that, I swear--"</p><p>Sammy pretty much goes into autopilot the rest of the way home, and as he bids Troy farewell through the open window of his car, he practically floats upstairs to his apartment where he promptly locks himself in the shower for as long as the hot water will stick around, treating himself to a nice long soak, a nice rough wank, and an even longer time after that to digest exactly what it means for him to be so helplessly, hopelessly attracted to one of his best fucking friends. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>there's some homophobia in this chapter, so reader be cautious</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The most important thing that Sammy has been able to keep ahold of ever since Emily's abduction is consistency. Keeping his head above water by taking comfort in the fact that for the most part, his days tend to go the same way. He wakes up around 5pm, has breakfast, goes for a jog, takes a shower, does a few errands if he has to, catches up on outside-station work if he needs to, takes a few hours to just lounge and relax if he doesn't-- and then he heads up to the station around midnight. That gives him enough time to set up the night's show with Ben (now that he's finally back at work with regularity) before it's time for them to go on the air. </p><p>The key, he's found, to keeping from completely breaking down due to the similarity of this situation to his own with Jack, is keeping himself busy. If he's busy, he doesn't have time to sit around and ruminate. </p><p>There's nothing he wishes more than that Ben would find his own way to keep busy. To keep from breaking down-- because as it is, his "busy" has been ruminating. Constantly, unendingly and without rest. He barely sleeps, and Sammy would be willing to bet he hasn't been eating much either. In fact he seems to completely forget to take care of himself altogether except for when he's in Sammy's presence, if the way he hastily combs his hair and eats whatever Sammy brings to the station is any consideration. </p><p>But at least Ben has the consistency of the show again. At least Sammy can give him a few hours of peace per night. A few hours in which he knows, more or less, what will happen. People will call in, there might be some drama but it'll be nothing they can't handle, and for the most part things will just be normal. As normal as they can be without Emily. </p><p>Tonight isn't shaping up to be one of the rare few drama-free ones, however, because one of the first callers on the line is none other than Archie Simmons, ushered in by his music as usual, heralded by the barking of a hundred tiny dogs. They exchange their pleasentries as much as Archie's playful obstinance will allow, but it doesn't take long for Archie to circle around to the meat and potatoes of why he's calling tonight. </p><p>"I just wanted to know if ya'll had any plans for gay pride month on your show?" he asks. "Ya'll didn't do <em>squat</em> last year-- not that I'm judgin' ya'll <em>heterosexuals</em>, I'm just sayin'. Are you allies, or ain't you?"</p><p>"Now, Archie, I think you know better than anyone that we're absolutely allies of our LGBTQIA audience," Sammy chastises, rolling his eyes behind his microphone and giving Ben an exaggerated look of despair, returning to the call, "And also, if you've been listening all night, we've been encouraging our callers to supply us with any ideas you guys might have-- after all, if you wanted a couple of straight guys to throw you a party you'd just go down to the closest biker bar, right?" Leaning back in his chair, Sammy clears his throat, "So, Archie-- no budget, what would you do for Pride Month?"</p><p>"Me?" Archie seems surprised, having it turned on him. "Well I don't <em>know</em>, I breed bitches, I don't plan festivals. Jeeze louise."</p><p>"You think we should have a festival?" Ben asks with a soft hum. "That wouldn't be the worst idea, honestly. It'd be a nice way to get the vibes in town back on track after-- well. Anyway, I bet if we spread the word, we could get a few businesses around town to donate their time to the cause. After all, the Best Small Town festival always brings in business, people would be bound to turn up to gay pride, too."</p><p>"Well NOW you're talkin'. This is exactly what I meant, boys. Actions speak louder than words," Archie says proudly. </p><p>"You think the radio station could sponsor such a festival? We could certainly provide coverage, entertainment. We might not be able to get Lizzo to perform, but we could probably get a pretty decent Elvis impersonator," Grinning wolfishly, Sammy winks at Ben, trying to get him into the idea, which Archie continues to endorse, "Maybe we can get some guest hosts on air the week leading up to it, let them have some air time? Think we could manage that, Ben?"</p><p>"I think I could probably pull a few strings," Ben admits with a weary smile, shaking his head as he looks away from the smug, older man clearly trying to get his goat. He knows Sammy is just trying to get his mind off of Emily-- it won't work, but it might be nice to have something to work on in between the moments he can't make further progress on getting her home.</p><p>"Oh, we got some lines lighting up," Sammy says eagerly after they let Archie go, watching a couple more begin to flash in front of him, "Suggestions for guest hosts? Acts? Let us know, line two, you're on the air."</p><p>"Hey Sammy," Ron's voice gruffs through the line. "I know I don't even need to say it, but I will anyway-- if you boys do get a festival up and running, I'd be more than happy to lend my land to some part of the festivities. It'd be nice to get some colors up this way that aren't green, brown and grey." </p><p>"It'd also be nice to get some business going in your direction, since Grisham shut down the tourney," Ben agrees, shifting in his seat to pull his legs up cross-legged in his chair. "Fishing doesn't exactly scream gay pride, but I bet we could figure out a way to make it work." </p><p>"You've got a point, Ben-- maybe I'll just invest in a food license-- hell, I dunno. Whatever it takes, if this is happening, you know I wanna be a part of it," Ron says. </p><p>"A lakeside carnival has a picturesque quality to it, don't you think? Think Kingsy would allow it for just one night?" Sammy is writing notes as he speaks in the little spiral-bound notebook he keeps at his desk for just the occasion; he seems to actually be taking it seriously.</p><p>Another line flicks on, and Sammy doesn't even pause before answering it, "Line 3, it's all you."</p><p>"Hey there, fellas," Chet Sebastian's low rumble is always in perfect HD over the radio, but the quality of his phone microphone doesn't seem to be dampening the purr, "Thought I'd cast my vote for a Pride festival here in town. Be about time we got one of those for more than just the mayor."</p><p>"Whoa, Chet?" Ben grins. It's surreal hearing Chet over the radio, usually he'll just walk into the room if he needs them for anything. "I don't think you've ever called in before-- uh, but yeah we'll take your vote down for sure. Would you be down to donate a little of your time DJ-ing for the night crowd? It'd be between you and E-Kid, and I think I'd trust your choices more."</p><p>"Evenin', Bennycat. Normally I'd grace y'all with my presence, but I was already on the road home when the topic came up and I just had to lend my two cents. Go ahead and sign me up for however long you need, there's no way I'd pass up donating my warm jazz to a night'a love like Pride," Turns out it didn't take a high-tech studio microphone to pick up the hunger in his voice, and he somehow still has it now, at 3am.</p><p>"Sammy's marking you down as we speak," Ben says, starting to sound more excited by the moment. This might actually be a nice change of pace from his bitter grief of the past few weeks. Sure, he'll never give up on getting Emily home-- but maybe he can do something nice in the meantime. </p><p>Hanging up with Chet, Ben scoots his own notebook aside, a move that makes Sammy's chest feel warm, as he tugs Sammy's book over instead to lean across and check out his notes so far. "You know, I bet we could get Dwayne and Kirk to donate a little food, too. Libbydale Farm is kind of a ways out for any of the festival to be there, but I'm sure they'd want to lend their support too. This could be really awesome."</p><p>"<em>Could</em> be?" Sammy replies with a voice that sounds insulted, but he's smiling as he watches Ben. There's that giddy little uptick to his voice again, the kind he gets when he's actually allowing himself to dive into something. He wondered how long it would be before he got to hear it again, and Sammy was glad it wasn't too long, after all, "Ben, if we're doing this, it will be really awesome. I don't do anything but. I have a reputation to uphold."</p><p>Clearing the lines, Sammy clicks his pen as he recites a list of potential sponsors, "We could probably get Glory Holes involved-- God, <em>please</em> let me get Glory Holes involved--" another line lights up, and Sammy waggles his eyebrows, grinning again. He doesn't bother to let Ben screen the caller. They were going three for three, after all.</p><p>"King Falls AM, this is Sammy Stevens and Ben Arnold, King Falls Pride Festival HQ-- got an idea for a biz we should hit up? Anything you'd like to see a stand for, I'm sure we could make it work."</p><p>"Uh, yeah," Frickard's voice comes through the line, and like a light switch being flipped, Ben deflates and sits back in his chair, like ice water was dumped on him. "I was just wondering when you guys would do straight pride? Because I'm all clear for July, personally."</p><p>"Wow, Frickard, you'd really overshadow the nation's <em>Independence</em> for straight pride?" Sammy's voice has gone cold almost as quickly as Ben's mood, and he hates how sour that makes him feel, "Off the line, Frickard, we're actually talking about something <em>real</em>, next--"</p><p>"Oh, so you're just gonna hang up on me! Great! I'm sure this town will love to know that you're a HETEROPHOBE."</p><p>"What-- that's not a <em>thing</em>, Frickard!" Ben snaps, his ice turning to fire quickly. "Even if it was, <em>we're</em> both straight too!"</p><p>"Yeah, sure! I bet you are," Frickard continues. "Because straight guys would definitely get all excited about gay pride. I had no idea you moved on from Emily so quickly, Benny-- guess that means that when she comes home she'll be all mine."</p><p>"Do you even hear yourself when you speak?" Sammy groans witheringly, huffing a breath, "We get excited because celebrating other people is a good thing-- or did you miss that part in the human development segment of your weird, crab-person upbringing?"</p><p>"Frog! If anything, i'd be a frog person!" Frickard protests. "I didn't <em>miss</em> it, I just wanted to know when you guys plan to throw a straight pride festival, that's all. In fact, if you guys are all about <em>equality</em>, I'd be really shocked and hurt if you <em>didn't</em> throw one."</p><p>"EVERY day is a straight pride day!" Ben throws his hands up in the air. "Literally every single other day of the year that isn't spent actively celebrating queer people is a day celebrating straight people. Turn on the TV, watch a movie, listen to any song in the top 100 chart and it's all about straight people, Frickard! Jack in the box jesus--"</p><p>"Well, we don't get a parade!" Frickard quips back. "I just think that if you guys were actually all about equality, you'd want to be <em>fair</em> and do both. In fact-- why don't you just put them together in the same festival? That way it'd be <em>really</em> fair. Make it straight <em>and</em> gay pride. That way people who don't wanna be too grossed out by all the gay stuff can still go."</p><p>"No one is stopping straight people from attending pride-- we will be there. I'm sure plenty of other townsfolk will be there, and most of them aren't gay. But we're not going to put Straight people in a Pride parade-- I have to ask again again, do you even hear yourself when you talk? They're the stars of every other parade in the world," Casting a disparaging look Ben's way, Sammy continues, "And if you're '<em>grossed out by all the gay stuff</em>', let me be the first to formally invite you to stay the fuck in that day. Please, don't come to Pride."</p><p>"Some liberals you are!" Frickard scoffs. "You aren't for equality, you just-- you just want gay people to be BETTER than normal people!" </p><p>"STRAIGHT people," Ben corrects furiously. "The word you're looking for is <em>straight</em>, Greg. Not <em>normal</em>. Sammy hang up on him I swear to god, I'm gonna start swinging." </p><p>Before Sammy gets the chance, the hotline rings. When Sammy reaches for the button to dump Greg, Ben holds up a hand. "No, hang on. Only a few people we trust have this number. That means either someone's coming to chew Greg a new one, or they're coming to agree with him and we'll know which of our friends to stop being friends with. You're live--"</p><p>"Now Frickard, I <em>know</em> you ain't comin' on the radio to talk about straight pride," Troy's voice comes in hard and stern, like a disappointed father. "Your granny raised you better than that."</p><p>"Troy Krieghauser, what a pleasure," Sammy can feel his chest going warm at that dulcet drawl in his ears, and it takes a will of iron not to flutter his lashes and lean closer to the mic. He might've failed that second part, just barely.</p><p>"You don't know a thing about how my granny raised me!" Frickard hisses, his voice cracking in typical indignation, "In fact, she was the one who taught me to be proud of who I was! To never apologize for being me!"</p><p>"Honestly, if she knew this was how you were going to turn out, she might've reconsidered teaching you that lesson," Sammy drawls, unable to help himself. Ben laughs outright. </p><p>"If anything, I thought you would be on MY side, deputy!" Frickard continues, desperate for approval from someone. "You're the only one out of these <em>goofballs</em> who actually has a wife-- much less a girlfriend! You should understand what I'm getting at! Where's our parade? Where's OUR festival!"</p><p>"Don't you lump me in with you," Troy says, his voice growing just a touch heated. "Fact is I <em>don't</em> belong in that straight pride parade with you, Frickard." </p><p>"You-- what?" Frickard seems to bluescreen then, unable to draw the necessary conclusions. "But-- you have a wife."</p><p>"Sure I do," Troy says. "Awful bold of you to assume that means I'm straight, though. Ain't you never heard of bisexuals?"</p><p>"Only girls in college are bisexual," Frickard says with all the confidence of a man who actually believes what he just said.</p><p>"Clearly not, Frickard, unless you're calling Troy a liar, which we both know is about as likely as you getting a goddamn Straight Pride Parade," Ben  guffaws.</p><p>Sammy knows he needs to respond, but his brain seems to take a second too long to process the information he'd just been told. Had he known Troy was bi? Had he ever said anything? He could feel it now, he was losing the conversation, and he had to quickly tune back in, just as Ben scoffs and gives him a dismissive look.</p><p>"Newsflash, Frickard, gays are everywhere. In my experience, small towns <em>breed</em> gay people, they're all just too afraid to say anything. I bet you rub elbows with more than you even know," Sammy hops to say, quickly, before Troy speaks again and throws him off for another five minutes.</p><p>"Shows what you know! I don't rub elbows with ANYONE," Frickard laughs in their faces, as if he didn't just perform a sick self-burn. "Throw a straight pride parade or you're heterophobic! Laters!" </p><p>"Eugh," Ben shudders, but recovers quickly. "Is that actually true, Troy? Or did you just say that to rile up Frickard?"</p><p>"I wouldnt've said it if it weren't true," Troy says. </p><p>"Well-- that's really cool, man. That you felt comfortable enough to tell us and everyone listening live on the air," Ben continues. "It feels good to know we're trusted like that."</p><p>"Of course I trust you fellas," Troy says, his voice warm. "And as for the town, well. There's a lotta weird stuff that happens around here, but hate crime ain't never really been a part of that. I wasn't exactly in the closet or nothin', I'm not scared if people know."</p><p>"It was still incredibly brave of you to come out like that-- I also had no idea, but I'm sure I can speak for everyone when I say that it's really an honor to have you amongst our ranks," Sammy explains with an eager nod, finding words to express how he's feeling.</p><p>There's a knock on the door behind Troy then, clearly coming from inside of his house, making Sammy's brows furrow as he knits them together, "Got someone there we should know about, Troy?"</p><p>"Hang on--" Troy holds the reciever against his chest, muffling his voice considerably-- enough so that it probably wouldn't pick up on the radio, but since Ben and Sammy are both wearing headphones, they hear him clearly enough. "Loretta? Was I talkin' too loud, sweetpea? I didn't mean to wake you--" </p><p>"You didn't wake me," Loretta answers sharply. "Hang up right now. We talked about this."</p><p>There's the sound of rustling, followed by Troy's somewhat strained voice. "Aw shoot, I forgot about-- a thing. I gotta go boys. Uh-- you know where I stand on the festival. I'll be security and--"</p><p>"<em>Now</em>, Troy."</p><p>"G'night!" Click. </p><p>The sudden dead air his Sammy like a freighter, and he clears his throat as the dial tone echoes hollowly throughout the early morning radio. Quickly, he cuts the feed to the hotline, "Okay Everyone, that was a... somewhat dramatic King Falls Pride planning session, but would it be a Pride festival if there wasn't any drama at all?" He tries to keep his tone light, waving a hand at Ben to get him involved.</p><p>But Ben's mood's been soured, and it's clear the bright, energetic optimism was already muddied by Frickard's call, making the onus of energy rely on Sammy, which wasn't exactly his strong suit.</p><p>"Keep tuning in throughout the month of June and we'll keep you all updated on how things go as we finalize dates, venues, and vendors. Keep on submitting ideas that you'd like to see for entertainment on Twitter, or, my personal favorite-- calling in and leaving a voicemail, can't underestimate that, right, Ben?"</p><p>"Right. Yeah, of course. Uh-- we're gonna pause to pay some bills now, and then when we come back, it'll be just in time for our interview with-- and I'm not joking, Chris P. Cream, on his opening a donut shop right beside the local Krispy Kreme, called <em>Chris P's Cream</em>. So... there's that to look forward to right after this." </p><p>Ben queues up the commercial and then pulls his headphones off, swiveling his chair towards Sammy. "That was weird, right? With Loretta? That was weird."</p><p>"Ridiculously," Sammy admits, frowning as he stares down at his cellphone. He'd hoping it'll light up, but he's not even sure why. What would he do if it did? If Troy called him for help in the middle of the night? Would he just go? </p><p>Of course he would, without a question.</p><p>"Troy's a big boy. Whatever he and Loretta have talked about regards to... that, that's their business. Whether everyone knows or not," Sammy sounds like he's speaking for his own comfort as much as the truth, like he's trying to assuage his own guilt. It's hard to assume the best in Loretta, sometimes, but their truce said he had to, "Go figures that'd be the one time she hears the show, right?"</p><p>"Yeah, no kidding... we should text him after the show or something. Make sure he's okay," Ben scrubs his hands over his face. "I'll tell you what though I am not looking forward to talking to Mr. Cream about his bad life choices." </p><p>Sammy is mostly on autopilot for the rest of the show. It's easy for him to just shut off and turn on the snark while he sinks into his thoughts. His attraction to Troy has been gnawing at him for over a year now,  but there had always been that comfortable level of separation there. That 'straight until proven gay' bias that even queer people have-- not to mention Loretta. Loretta is still an obstacle (jack in the box jesus did he just think of Loretta as an <em>obstacle?)</em> but there's just one less layer of insurance there that he could use to convince himself that nothing could ever come of his burgeoning feelings for Troy.</p><p>Now that he knows Troy is interested in men, his inner demons are going to be fucking insufferable. </p><p>The worry gnaws at Sammy through the morning, even as they give closing remarks and host closing banter with the last few callers of the morning-- Archie again on his morning walk, with his chorus of rambunctious, waking-up puppies, Herschel bidding them both good morning and expressing his excitement for a new doughnut shop, among others. </p><p>They both seem to feel the night's work, and so when the show finally does close, and they switch into a musical interlude between programming, Sammy offers Ben only a tight lipped grin, and a warm hand on his shoulder, "Good job sticking with it today, Ben. Try and get some sleep," He urges, voice warm and nearly paternal. </p><p>He makes sure Ben gets into his car and drives off before he does the same, intending to close out the day with a plate of pancakes from Rose's. But instead of turning left and heading down the street to the diner, Sammy continues through town until he reaches Troy's house, instead, following his gut-- not his stomach.</p><p>Honestly, he doesn't know what his plan is. Or if he even <em>has</em> a plan. Ben has probably already texted Troy by now. Hell, Troy is probably already asleep by now. He might have a tenuous truce with Loretta, but how would she respond to him just showing up on her porch after a potentially tense conversation with her husband? (Who is he kidding with potentially tense, his inner demons say ungenerously) </p><p>He doesn't think that far ahead, though. Go with the flow, he always says. Jesus, he never says that-- what's become of him, these last few hours? He finds out his best friend is queer and he just turned into a fucking idiot is what, fantastic. He pulls into the driveway, berating himself, and is shocked when he turns to undo his belt and sees Troy's cruiser sitting right beside him-- with Troy in the driver's seat. Leaned back, asleep. </p><p>Well, that answers that question, though Sammy honestly wishes he'd been wrong. Seeing Troy curled in his cruiser, sleeping on what had to be his jacket bundled under his head against the window, it was just plain sad. If anyone deserved a bed at night it was Troy Krieghauser.</p><p>Cutting off his headlights first, then his car, Sammy makes sure the Prius is silent when he closes his door. He hesitates in front of the passenger side of Troy's cruiser, wondering if he should just pretend like he'd never even seen him sleeping like this.</p><p>But he couldn't pretend. The sight had been seen, and Sammy raises his hand to knock quietly on the glass of the cruiser, noticing the way Troy starts, blinking into reality groggily while Sammy opens the door, "Don't mean to interrupt, but-- can I join you?" He doesn't want to ask, not standing outside the cruiser at 6am where anyone could see. That wasn't better.</p><p>"What? Sammy? Oh lord-- what time is it? Come in, you're lettin' the warm out," Troy says, dropping his jacket into his lap and waving Sammy inside while he yawns. He reaches for his glasses on the dash and hooks them over his ears. "I didn't expect you-- were we supposed to-- did we have plans or somethin'? I'm real sorry if I forgot."</p><p>Ducking his head, Sammy lets himself into the car, leaning back in the passenger's seat, watching Troy rub sleep out of his eyes and stretch bones that were no doubt sore from a rough night's sleep, "We didn't have plans. I came in to check in on you," He doesn't want to say it outright, that much is obvious. He doesn't want to say that Loretta had sounded like a problem again. </p><p>"You hung up real quick on us, bud. Got kinda worried you'd gotten in some sort of trouble for something you might've said," Sammy says vaguely, gesturing to the car, "Everything okay?"</p><p>"Oh... you heard that?" Troy looks dejected, sagging back in his seat. "I'm-- well. Everything's alright. Loretta's just... unhappy with me, is all. I messed up big. But I'm gonna make it right with her, everything's gonna be just fine."</p><p>Sammy bites his tongue, actively, to keep himself from saying the first thing that came to his mind. It was nothing flattering at all, nothing productive. He couldn't have Troy shut down on him again, not after they'd just reconciled a couple months ago. </p><p>"I stand by what we said at the station," Sammy finally manages, trying very hard to keep his voice free of judgement, "What you did was really cool, Troy. Hopefully you won't let this make you regret it."</p><p>"Aw, I dunno," Troy says, fiddling with his steering wheel. "I just... alright, if I tell you something, do you promise not to tell nobody? And I mean nobody, not even Ben. I'm not supposed to tell a soul but... I'm real bad at keepin' secrets, Sammy. They e't me up inside like nobody's business."</p><p>"Of course, Troy," Sammy's brows pull together as he casts a look inside. It's still dark inside the Krieghauser estate. Loretta seems to be asleep, still, "Anything you say to me will be kept in my confidence, you have my word," And Sammy holds up three fingers in a dramatic 'Scout Salute', teasing. Troy doesn't seem to appreciate the tease, or at least, doesn't soften.</p><p>"You remember how I told you Loretta was hurt bad before, and that's what made her the way she is?" Troy says, glancing up at the house like he anticipates Loretta to come outside with some sixth sense that they're talking about her. "It was her ex. Husband. She was married once before we met, for a while, too. Six years or somethin'. Wasted the best years of her life on that sleazeball. He..." Troy blows a long breath out through his nose, his nostrils flaring. This is clearly a topic that has brought him to rage in the past. "The whole time he was with her, he was havin' an affair. Or I guess, he was havin' an affair on <em>his</em> wife with <em>her</em>. Technically <em>she</em> was the other woman, on account of he had a wife and a four year old when he met her. He was a business man, spent half the year on one coast and half on the other, and had a different wife on both sides of the country, neither of which knew about the other for the longest damn time."</p><p>Taking another long breath, Troy continues. "He promised Loretta they'd have kids without never tellin' her he had a vasectomy years ago, after his first wife-- real wife? --got pregnant. One and done with him, I guess. He let her think <em>she</em> was infertile cause she definitely wasn't gettin' pregnant, and it wasn't for lack of tryin'. Things were finally revealed for what they were when her husband's Maine wife followed him across the country after suspectin' he was havin' an affair, and lo and behold, she finds him in bed with poor Loretta, who was none the wiser. It <em>broke</em> her, man. Shattered her to pieces. She and Yolanda-- that's the scumbag's other wife-- are still real good friends out of the whole ordeal, though." </p><p>Clearing his throat, he sighs. "Anyhow, the way this relates to me is-- well, I didn't tell her about my sexuality until after we were married. It wasn't exactly that I was hidin' it or nothin', it just wasn't relevent on account of she's a woman and I'm a man-- and you remember how I told you we were only together for a few months before we got hitched? We didn't exactly know each other top to bottom yet. When she found out... she was <em>real</em> upset. She thinks bisexual people are more likely to cheat, since we can be attracted to double the folks. She felt all kinds of betrayed, and made me promise not to talk about it no more. Since it didn't matter none anyhow, on account of me bein' married to a woman, till death do us part. And I agreed, I thought it was fair. But that was so dang long ago I just... forgot. And I just told the <em>whole town.</em>"</p><p>Sammy's quiet for a second, but he can already know his words might be taken wrong. This was a delicate subject matter. Sammy would have to respond just as delicately.</p><p>"That's really sad about Loretta, it really is. The fact her ex-husband did that to her is.... really unforgivable. I can see why she might have a hard time trusting similar folks in similar situations," Sammy makes sure he sounds as sympathetic as possible before moving on, clearing his throat and smoothing one hand over the console of the car, "But with all due respect, Troy, they're not similar situations at all. It sounds an awful lot like she's putting two unrelated experiences together in an attempt to justify some sort of... insecurity with herself. You'd never cheat on her, ever, bisexual man or not. And frankly, Troy, King Falls needs more people like you. It's crazy what sort of power representation wields on a town this small."</p><p>Clearing his throat, Sammy turns back to look out the windshield, trying not to linger on watching Troy for too long, "I mean its even mattered for me, and I'm a grownass adult."</p><p>Troy looks like he really wants to say something else, but he deflates, and looks back out the front wind shield with a sigh. "Well-- cat's outta the bag now, anyhow. I can't un-come-out, after all. Hopefully me bein' out does someone good somewhere, cause it sure as hell ain't done me any good so far."</p><p>There's that nasty, gnawing chew to his stomach, the guilt-ridden anger that still gets him hot, despite his promise for his best behavior. He couldn't ruin this. He didn't want to. </p><p>"I wish I was as brave as you. I'm... not. Not yet, I don't think," Sammy is hyperaware of the pulse of his heart through his veins, his capillaries. Nerves makes his hair stand on end. Was he really preparing to tell the one secret that he'd truly kept to himself? How long had it been since he'd even said it to himself? "But you coming out like that only goes to show it's okay, you know? No one called the dogs. And that means... who knows. Maybe someday I'll be able to, too," He says it so casual it's easy to overlook. That's sort of the point.</p><p>He says it so casually that Troy doesn't even catch on for a second, and it's only after a moment that he puts the pieces together, and raises his eyebrows towards Sammy in surprise. </p><p>"Wait, are you sayin'... are you...?" he asks, a clenching starting up in his throat that he can't help. Nerves, maybe. Hope, probably. </p><p>Sammy sighs, rubbing a hand through his hair and pushing back the errant, loose strands of blonde that had come free from his typical bun. Leaning back in the passenger seat, he shrugs, all without even glancing at the officer.</p><p>“You can say the word, Troy. I’m gay. It ruins the badass radio jockey stereotype, though, so I keep it to myself, especially in tiny towns like these,” Finally he looks at Troy, out of the side of his eye, “Like I said. Representation is important.”</p><p>"Well... huh. Ben doesn't know?" Troy asks, recalling the way Ben had confidently claimed over the radio that both he and Sammy were straight. His chest feels funny now in a way he can't describe. </p><p>“No one does,” Sammy admits with a heavy sigh. Tilting his head back against the headrest of the seat, he looks at the soft felt roof of the cruiser, clearly thinking. “I like my privacy, and it never seemed like anyone else’s business who I sleep with so I didn’t publicize it. If they assume I’m straight because I can appreciate a nice looking woman occasionally, well. Doesn’t hurt the demographics,” He smiles at Troy then, sardonic and self deprecating.</p><p>"I get it," Troy nods along, fiddling with the jacket in his lap. "I'm... real touched you felt safe openin' up to me like this, Sammy. And even though I said I don't like keepin' secrets-- if this is a secret of yours, ain't a way in hell I'd ever spill it to nobody, no how."</p><p>“You better not. You don’t even wanna know what happened to the last guy I came out to,” Sammy’s words are serious, and he gives Troy the flash of a menacing look. He breaks before too long, though— no way could anyone seriously menace Troy for longer than a moment.</p><p>Troy shoves Sammy by the shoulder with a soft laugh. "I won't tell a single living soul. I'll take it to my grave if I gotta, honest. I really appreciate you tellin' me, though. Makes me feel closer to you than ever. I ain't the jealous sort or nothin', but sometimes seein' you and Ben as close as you are makes me feel like a big ol third wheel, you know? And it ain't nothin' neither of you did, and it ain't nothin' either of you could or <em>should</em> ever try to change, it's just my own stuff. I already had a deeper connection with Ben on account of we grew up together, but you and I never had a <em>thing</em> before. Till now, anyhow... it feels nice to have a thing with you, Sammy."</p><p>"It's nice to have a <em>thing</em> with me?" Sammy can't help but smile, Troy's honest words resonating in him, "Honestly, Troy, Ben and I have the show but... what we have is better, by a longshot. You saved me from whats his name, on the road, that first night. You arrested me. Took me speeding through the town...." Shaking his head, Sammy holds up his hands, shrugging, "I guess now we also have this, but, c'mon Troy. Saying we haven't had a <em>thing</em> until now is basically an insult. You'll hurt my feelings with that kind of talk."</p><p>"Now Sammy, I don't want you comparin' me and Ben none. It warms my heart to hear you say <em>better</em>, but it just ain't true," Troy says, sounding protective. "Your friendship with Ben is just as, if not more solid. But... you're right. I <em>did</em> tagteam a high speed police chase with you, and I ain't never done that with Ben before."</p><p>The integrity that Troy lives his life by has to be exhausting, Sammy decides then and there. He's so quick to defend Ben against a sleight that isn't even real that it brings a smile to his face, making him roll his eyes, "My <em>point</em> is that we have plenty of 'things'. They don't have to be loud to count. I don't always want loud things. In fact, I rarely do, they're just attracted to me, apparently."</p><p>"Well-- guess we just got one <em>more</em> thing then," Troy says, bridging the gap between them with a warm, friendly hand on Sammy's shoulder that feels a little too big and strong for Sammy to feel any kind of platonic way about it. This is really getting to be a problem. "Didja come all this way just to tell me about-- well, your preferences?"</p><p>Sammy huffs a skeptical bit of laughter, brushing off Troy's hand dismissively as he rolls his shoulders. In part it's to look casual, so he doesn't appear to be ruminating on the touch too long, but it's also to work out the flood of warmth that had rushed to his chest at the contact. </p><p>"Actually, I hadn't planned on it, at all. I was just coming by to make sure you were okay, and... Here I found you." </p><p>"Here you found me," Troy says, his voice breaking off into a yawn. "I was just gonna sit out here 'till Loretta left for work, and it looks like her car's gone. I hope you won't take it personal if I run inside now for some proper horizontal shut-eye. I appreciate you swingin' by, but I'm about 39 winks short so far."</p><p>"I'm not sure I know what any of those country sayings are, but I know a dismissal when I hear one," Sammy raises his hands as he says it, clapping Troy warmly on the shoulder as his hand finds the door handle, "Sleep well, Troy. Hopefully things with Loretta will be calmer with some time to realize nothing's changed between you two." It's as much of a well-wish he could offer without feeling like an absolute fraud.</p><p>It's heartbreaking, watching Troy wobble into the house with his jacket clutched to his chest like a sleepy toddler, knowing he was sent out of the house just for being open about who he is. It still sits like an anvil in his gut that Troy's wife is the kind of woman who thinks Troy would be more prone to cheating on her just because he's interested in men. He understands that she was burned terribly badly by her previous husband, but that's still no excuse for falling into the stereotype that queer men are somehow more sexually criminal than any other type of man. And especially towards Troy of all people, who is about as pure as the newfallen snow. </p><p>He spends an admittedly embarrassing amount of time just sitting in Troy's cruiser after that, coming down from the high of sharing his secret with the first person since Lily and Jack. There's still that voice trying to convince him that it was a mistake to come out to Troy, but for once, he trusts the person he invested something secret in more than his doom and gloom has the strength to override. If there's one person in the world he trusts to keep him safe, it's Troy Krieghauser. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>we altered canon a little bit for this chapter :3c</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Sammy first saw Sheriff Gunderson, he'd thought he'd looked like a melodramatic teenager enacting the part of Wild West Outlaw. When Sammy first <em>met</em> Sheriff Gunderson, he realized he had never despised someone on first sight before him, and at first <strong><em>dealing</em> </strong>with Sheriff Gunderson, Sammy knew you couldn't trust that man farther than he could throw him. </p><p>So, when Sammy hears Troy's being sent by Gunderson to polling sections in famously Ron-supporting parts of town to ferry ballots at the end of the polling day, he doesn't trust it. Every other polling location had ballots delivered by an anonymous volunteer of the polling location, regardless of party affiliation. Gunderson's involvement was suspect, already, and to put Troy at risk? That seemed a little too personal to be a 'sign of good faith', as Gunderson so simperingly suggested.</p><p>"We all know Deputy Troy's.... Proclivities toward Mr. Begley's type. Who better than he to ensure those votes get into the right hands?" He'd said. Sammy didn't trust it for a second. </p><p>"Hey there, everyone. In case you're joining us from after the break, let me address the animal in the room right away. My sound quality is awful. I know. As some of you might know, I've taken to broadcasting from the Hotline via my Prius, where I'm currently at polling center number 4 that has just closed. I'm here with Deputy Troy Krieghauser. Deputy Krieghauser has been dutifully collecting your hard-cast ballots all day, folks, and he's going to be heading back to Town Hall soon, where we'll begin counting votes and putting an end to this absolute nightmare. Ben, things still calm at polling station three? No riveting ballot-collecting we should know about?"</p><p>"Nothing really, no. Just waiting to hear anything about the ballots," Ben says, his voice grouchy. "You know I'm still sore about this whole damn recount. What about on your end? Following Troy around like a sneaky mom on her kid's first date has got to be just about as riveting as the whole-lotta-nothing I've got to report."</p><p>"Actually, you'll be very jealous to hear that one of the volunteers saw me waiting in my Prius outside and offered me a cupcake. I turned it down, obviously, but they told me that things are shaping up pretty well for our guy. I refuse to even offer cautious optimism, because if anyone has a Plan F it'd be Grisham, but at least the people know who they want," Sammy keeps one eye on the front door of the rec center they were parked in front of, the final polling station. Troy would be on his way any minute now.</p><p>"You didn't even accept the cupcake to bring back to me? You monster," Ben gasps, as Troy trots out of the polling station and gives Sammy a little nod on his way to his truck, where he fits the final box of ballots in the bed, lifts up the back and hops in the driver's seat. Sammy climbs back into his own car to pull out onto the road behind Troy, unaware of the unmarked car pulling out of the parking lot just a few yards behind him. </p><p>Just then, the sound of a cell phone chiming sounds, and Ben gives a noise like a startled bird. "Troy's calling me-- hang on. I'll patch him in."</p><p>"That's the last of it, fellas," Troy's voice comes through the radio loud and clear. "And uh-- anybody listening. Now it's just off to city hall to drop these boxes off, and in just a couple hours we'll have the results once and for all."</p><p>"You're doing the Lord's work, Troy," Sammy says seriously, "Tell me, how does it feel to be carrying such precious cargo? I'm sure you must feel like Santa, right? Democratic Santa? It's not the worst name."</p><p>He follows just a bit behind Troy, keeping the bright red of his tailights in his line of sight. Not once does Sammy lose him, not that it's hard to keep up-- Troy's no speed demon in his spare time, and on the clock he's typically even less so, car chases not included.</p><p>There's a bright pair of LED's further up the road. Sammy squints, actually glad for the cars in front of him for blocking the light a bit so he can see, "Who's the asshole with their brights on in a 2-lane? Can we pause delivering democracy so you can arrest them for being goddamn obnoxious?"</p><p>"While drivin' with your brights on is technically illegal, I'm not on the clock at the moment, and I ain't fixin' to pull over a body in my ford when I've got somethin' so important in the back, you feel me?" Troy says with a chuckle. </p><p>The lights flash on the car approaching them, and then abruptly the car that had been tailing Sammy about 30 feet back lays on the gas and speeds right for him, loud enough that even Ben can hear the acceleration over the phone. Sammy has just enough time to hear Ben ask what he's hearing before, abruptly, the black car swings around in front of Sammy in a no-passing zone with barely enough room between oncoming traffic for him to do so. </p><p>"What in the hell-- are you alright Sammy?" Troy's voice comes over the phone that Sammy absolutely would have dropped in shock, were it not fixed to his dashboard in its case. "I just saw that maniac whip in between us, he didn't hitcha, did he?"</p><p>Sammy slams on his brakes, his teeth grit in a silent snarl as he  begins accelerating again, eyebrows pulled into a furrow over his eyes, heavy as he clenches his jaw and ducks his head to try and keep up with the cars that were pulling steadily and steadily farther away from Sammy on the road-- he just couldn't keep up, excellent gas mileage or no. </p><p>"Something's happening, Troy," Sammy warns through his phone, leaning up to see a few cars up, to look for anything suspicious, "Think you can pull over? Let traffic pass, we can deliver the ballots after."</p><p>"Yeah, sounds like a good idea. This fella behind me seems a mite impatient to get where he's goin'," Troy says, and Sammy sees him put on his blinker to indicate his intent to pull over, just as they round a bend and Saddle Creek comes into view. </p><p>The car behind Troy seems to have other ideas. When he tries to pull over, it swerves in between him and the side of the road, like it's trying to pass him on the shoulder-- only to swerve back again. Like it's happening in slow motion, Sammy watches in horror as the black car forces Troy to swerve away from it to avoid being blasted along his doors-- directly towards the guard rail acting as the only barrier between the road and a 20 foot drop into the water below. </p><p>Sammy must have made an unholy sound, because Ben begs to know what's happening-- but Sammy can't find the words. Troy shouts something and then his phone line abruptly cuts off, and when he swerves again to try and get away from the car revving in his direction, it accelerates once more. Misjudging his distance between the car and the guard rail, Troy smashes right into the steel railing, and with the most wrenching sound of metal warping that Sammy has ever heard, he watches Troy's truck go sailing right over the guard rail and into the water, with traffic slamming to a halt on both sides just as the black car goes tires-peeling off into the distance to flee the scene of the crime. </p><p>The sound echoes hollowly throughout the evening sky, and with a screech of tires, Sammy pulls off to a shoulder on the road-- "Troy was just run off of the road," Sammy says, his voice breathless and shocked, "A small, unmarked dark coupe cut me off. Then his..."</p><p>It seems to register, then, just what Troy's car careening off the side of the road means, the world catching up with Sammy at last. And his concern isn't for the ballots. "Ben, call for help, we're just off of mile 23, right by the cliffside. Troy's car went off of it," There is no room left for discussion, or argument, and the words are punctuated by the frantic sound of beeping, of the car shifting into reverse, peeling across gravel, the door opening, and then silence.</p><p>Sammy doesn't think, he just acts-- his chest cramps with how badly it hurts, and he's only dimly aware of the cars pulling off of the side of the road ahead of him, a couple yards up. He doesn't wait for the other Good Samaritan to catch up with him, he yanks off his shoes and his coat, tosses them aside, and dives into the churning water below without a second thought.</p><p>Saddle Creek isn't as much of a roaring river as it used to be back in his heyday as Saddleback River, but it's still decently choppy-- especially this time of year, when all the snow is melting. It's deep enough that Troy's truck is almost entirely underwater, the black waves chopping halfway up his front windows, and deep enough that Sammy can't see inside as he floats down the frigid river. </p><p>"SAMMY!" he hears a voice call from overhead, but he doesn't have the energy to call back or even find out who's calling for him. </p><p>He catches the side of the truck to keep from being washed past it, his entire body seizing up with how cold the water is, and catches sight of Troy inside, unconscious and slumped forward against the wheel-- face down in the water. God willing, he's just unconscious and not worse. </p><p>If there's one thing Sammy has picked up from weird, late-night random television, it's that you have no chance of opening a car door underwater if you're working against the current, but with luck, Troy's door happens to be facing downstream, so all Sammy has to do is tug on the handle and get just a little bit of the rushing water inside, and the pressure will do the rest-- but of course, good boy Troy had his fucking doors locked. </p><p>The chances of getting Troy to somehow hear him were slim to none, which meant that Sammy would have to find a solution, himself-- and fast. The more time he wasted, the more water began to creep up Troy's shoulders, filling the cabin at a slower rate than the rest of the car was being submerged, but that wasn't exactly a good thing. It'd be easier to get Troy out of the car, maybe, but he'd need him conscious by then, and Sammy wasn't willing to bet his life like that.</p><p>Instead, he does what any other man would do, he pulls his elbow back and drives it into the window. One hit and it creaks, two and it splinters, three hits has it fully cracking, and on the fourth, as Sammy sucks in a breath through clenched teeth, the window finally caves. It isn't explosive, and thank goodness, the glass falling against the handle and in the water around Troy. </p><p>Sammy's able to work his arm in to the bicep, where the mangled edges nip at his skin and cut painful bites into his skin, until he's able to work his hand down to the lock and pry it free, fighting the tide the entire way. He pulls his arm out too fast, not that he's caring, and completely misses the shallow scrape across his underarm he gets for his effort. </p><p>The door pops open, Sammy scurries in, and he manages to unbuckle and pull Troy out even as the cruiser's metal chasis groans hollowly, water beginning to suck it deeper into the depths of the creek. Hoisting the unconscious form of Troy loosely over his shoulder-- and decently pleased he could even do that-- Sammy pushes away from the car, wanting to put space between them and the current caused by the sinking mass. It leaves them at the cliffside, Troy's head propped on Sammy's shoulder as his energy wanes, and a 20 foot vertical climb still to overcome.</p><p>"Sammy!" he hears a voice, followed by several others, and cranes his neck back as he fights the current to see multiple towns people huddled around the broken guard rail, including Dwayne Libbydale standing at the head of the pack with a huge length of rope coiled around his arms. "Catch this!" </p><p>The end of the rope comes sailing down to him, and Sammy's able to tie a hasty loop in the bottom to stick his foot in, looping his arm more fully around Troy's waist as Dwayne hooks the rope over the smooth edge of the guard rail, and between him and combined efforts of at least twelve other townspeople, they start to heave-ho the both of them up out of the water and towards the road above. </p><p>By the time they're cresting the top of the cliff, nearly all of Sammy's energy has been sapped clear out of him by the freezing temperature of the water still clinging to his skin in his clothes, and the pain of lacerations, blunt force and possibly a fractured elbow all catch up to him as he drops the unconscious deputy onto his side in the grass. </p><p>There are voices all around them, asking what happened, offering to corroborate any police statements, asking if they're alright-- but they all just sound underwater to Sammy hunched on his hands and knees as he is, while it starts coming into focus that Troy, lying limp on his side beside him with his forehead gashed open and bleeding, isn't <em>breathing</em>. </p><p>Help is coming, Sammy knows that much. He told Ben to call someone-- had he? He had. And Ben would, first thing-- and he probably wasn't the only one to call. For a long, helpless moment, Sammy lets himself believe they'll be there in the next moment, like they were just waiting for them to breach the edge of the cliff. But every time he blinks, there are no flashing lights, no helpful EMT's, and Troy still isn't breathing.</p><p>"Come on," Sammy whispers to no one, looking at nobody as he leans over Troy's face, turning his head to hold an ear to his mouth-- he's desperate to hear anything, any sort of sound, any sign that he was breathing. But his chest was still. They were running out of time. </p><p>Leaning back, Sammy shoves hair out of his face as he laces his fingers together. Heels of his palms finding Troy's sternum, he begins to press down on him in a steady rhythm, CPR knowledge coming back from a gym class of decades past. In truth, he was guessing. The thought of doing nothing, though, was unbearable. </p><p>So, he doesn't think. He tilts Troy's chin up and his head back, opening the pathways to the throat-- Right? Had to be -- and leans forward, sealing his lips over Troy's and blowing air into his lungs once, twice. Sammy waits to see if Troy's breathing, and when he isn't? He keeps going, his mind completely gone to the static of running on instinct.</p><p>It only takes a few tries for the air to crowd into Troy's lungs, and water comes rushing up out of his throat in a series of wet, hoarse coughs. Sammy helps him roll over onto his side as he upchucks into the grass, and Sammy is treated to the sound of deeply unhelpful but uprorious applause coming from all the assembled townspeople around them. </p><p>He manages to croak out the word "blanket" and luckily Kirk Libbydale seems to catch on, and goes to fetch a blanket Sammy has in the back seat of his car, while Sammy overhears someone else murmur something about "all those ballots" now floating down the river and away from Troy's truck. </p><p>The blanket is passed off to Sammy a moment later just as the shivers set in for Troy, the shock and chill catching up to him all at once like-- well, like being hit by a car. </p><p>"Hey, bud, stay with me," Sammy mutters complacently as he tosses takes very deliberate care in cocooning Troy in the blanket. He was glad it even had some residual heat from his car, but even still, he rubs his hands up and down against his shoulders, trying to warm him from within. </p><p>Sammy's very much in Troy's space, but he makes absolutely no attempt to move. He helps Troy sit upright, holding him up in the crook of his arm, swaddled by the blanket, "We got help on the way. You really know how to scare the absolute crap out of me, don't you?" The relief in his voice is plain, his words fully without heat. He's talking just to talk now, to keep those glassy blue eyes from closing on him again and breaking his heart again.</p><p>"What-- what happened?" Troy coughs again, sagging completely into the strength of Sammy's arm. "I remember... that car. It ran me clear off the road-- didn't it? I didn't imagine that-- that happened, right?"</p><p>It's not the time to be angry, but it takes a conscious effort for Sammy not to reply with a scathing word or two about who he was pretty sure had a hand in this mess. He overcomes, but barely, only offering a clipped, hoarse laugh, instead.</p><p>"You took a mid-evening swim," Sammy offers tersely after a hesitating second, acting surprisingly casual for such a serious subject matter, "You're okay, that's all that matters for right now, okay? Don't think about what happened right now, there'll be plenty of time for that, later."</p><p>"Okay... yeah, okay. You're right," Troy says wearily, letting his head drop back down onto Sammy's shoulder. </p><p>It's hard for Sammy to really understand how much time passes, then. The townspeople are still crowded around anxiously, some of them fluttering close by enough to ask if they're doing alright, or to offer them water -- which Sammy helps Troy drink -- before finally the ambulance arrives. And hot on its heels, a fucking channel 13 news van. </p><p>Sammy stands between Troy and any cameras flashing while the EMT's strap Troy down onto a gurney from the chest down and fix a brace around his neck. As much as he <em>can</em> stand between him and anything, considering their height difference. But he takes up as much space as possible, shielding his face most importantly while the paramedics trying to help Troy into the back of their truck even as people shout questions at the disoriented deputy.</p><p>"I'm going to ask for some professional respect, here, come on," Sammy urges, voice really allowing no room for argument as he full-on puts his hand inside the lens of one of the cameras, fingers smearing the delicate, expensive glass at the protests of its operator. </p><p>Sammy walks backwards to the ambulance, still blocking the quietly-talking party as he tries to listen in. The paramedics lock the wheels of Troy's bed in the center, and he glances over his shoulder, "I can follow," Sammy promises, "I'll ditch these knuckleheads and see you there, ASAP, okay, Troy?"</p><p>"No-- I--" Troy is still somewhat delirious, he doesn't really know how to articulate what he wants, and doesn't really have the ability to put any thought into consequences of actions or requests. All he knows is the idea of being alone right now with the medics makes his chest clench up awful fierce. He reaches his arm out in Sammy's direction, hand outstretched, beckoning. "Please." </p><p>"Either get in or back up, sir," one of the EMT's says. "We need to get moving."</p><p>Troy's hand catches on a crook in Sammy's soaked flannel, and the little tug is all he needs to turn and face him. Frowning, Sammy glances from the crowd, to Troy, and turns, ducking his head and climbing into the ambulance without a second thought.</p><p>"You wanted to hang out, all you ever have to do is ask," Sammy teases, sitting close to Troy's head, allowing the EMT's to stick monitors to his wrists and chest. He rubs Troy's shoulder, comfortingly, "We coulda planned a better night than this, though, buddy."</p><p>"Gunderson's gonna have my head," Troy says, his voice thick with exhaustion and delirium. "I lost all them ballots... so many people's votes, just washed away clear down the river... what if Ron loses cause of this? What if it's my fault?"</p><p>"If it wasn't this, it would've been something else," Sammy can't help himself, shaking his head as he tries to hold Troy still, making him look up at Sammy, "The <em>only</em> person at fault is the asshole who ran you off the road, that's it," He says, voice serious, "Now let the EMT's do their thing before they kick me out onto the highway."</p><p>Without conversation, Troy falls asleep pretty immediately, succumbing to the exhaustion of his ordeal, but at least Sammy has his monitors to comfort him, beeping away as they speed towards the hospital. He just holds onto Troy's hand whenever he can without getting in the way of the bustling EMT's, keeping himself busy by murmuring to them every time it seems like they can spare a moment to chat-- asking about Troy's condition, and if he'll be alright. </p><p>Arriving at the hospital, Sammy is left unceremoniously in the waiting room as Troy is wheeled off to be x-rayed and checked out from top to bottom for injuries-- and for the first time, he's left alone with his thoughts.</p><p>Sammy is a bundle of energy for about three minutes before exhaustion hits him as hard as it hit Troy. The air leaves him as soon as he sits down, and he seems to realize how much had happened in the past hour. He's still soaked through after his own swim, but he'd kept his blanket, so only now does he pull it around himself as his mind tries to keep up with his body, processing the day.</p><p>It's a losing battle. He keeps being struck by fear, each chiming page across the intercom making Sammy's hair stand on end. In his mind, each hustling doctor is for Troy, every hushed word spoken by the nurses behind folders.  Sammy tugs his hair into a sloppy bun, rubbing a hand over his face as his foot begins to bounce, worst-case scenarios winning over reason as the worry from earlier threatens to consume him again. He's offered just a moment's reprieve when a nurse seems to become aware of him for the first time and asks him if he needs to be looked over, since sitting disheveled and damp in a waiting room makes him stand out a  bit, but he declines. He's not here for him. </p><p>Desperate to find a distraction, Sammy pats down his jacket, finding his phone in the front pocket. Flipping it open, he scans through to find Loretta's number. He had to be productive. He had to know what was going on, inside. He needed family privilege, "Loretta, it's Sammy. Have you heard what happened to Troy?" He cuts right to the chase, unable to help himself</p><p>"I heard," Loretta replies, her voice canned and cold. "I already called the hospital. They said he'll be fine, right?" For all her vitriol, Sammy can actually detect a hint of worry in her voice. If the doctors said he'd be fine they certainly hadn't told Sammy that yet, but it makes sense that they would inform Troy's wife before the unrelated dude dripping in the lobby. </p><p>"Oh-- they did?" Sammy says, sounding every bit as confused as he suddenly feels. His brain skips a step trying to reconcile this new information. He'd be fine. He'd be <em>fine</em>.</p><p>Relief the likes of which he couldn't believe floods through him, making him feel almost weak. His shoulders sag as he covers his face with his hand, the other still limply holding the phone to his ear, "I was just calling to tell you, in case no one had, yet. Will you be here, soon?"</p><p>"I can't," Loretta says. "Not yet. I'm still at work, and I can't afford to walk away. Things are going crazy at the office right now. I'll get off as soon as I possibly can. Are you there at the hospital with him now?"</p><p>"You're at <em>work?"</em> Sammy can't help the incredulous tone, as well as the slight guffaw in his voice, "I think they'd understand, Loretta, your husband was just run off the road by a psychopath."</p><p>"It's not that they wouldn't understand," Loretta replies. "But work is crazy right now, I can't drop everything and go right this second. Troy will probably be asleep for a few hours anyway-- I'll get there as soon as I can."</p><p>Sammy actually gives his phone a look of annoyance, the very one he could never give Loretta to her face, "It's almost 7 at night, you <em>cannot</em> tell me your office is swamped with work. What business has anything to conduct at 7pm?"</p><p>"Very <em>funny</em>, Stevens," Loretta quips, her tone chilled. "I'll be there when I get there. Troy will understand. Just hold down the fort until I arrive." She hangs up before Sammy has a chance to bite back, or even ask why she thought it was "funny" for him to ask her why she would be swamped with work.</p><p>Before he has much time to ruminate on it, a soft voice calls for him by name and he snaps to attention in time to see a young nurse holding a clipboard standing in the archway of the waiting room. "Mr. Krieghauser is awake and asking for you," she says with a smile, indicating down the hallway with a hand. </p><p>He's on his feet in an instant, following her with haste as she brings him to the correct room. Troy is sitting with his bed propped upright on a small stack of pillows, wrapped in a fluffy robe with a heating blanket plugged in and draped over him. He looks weary and pale, but he doesn't even have an IV in him, which is a good sign. There's a line of stitches in his forehead, but apart from that he seems mostly unharmed. </p><p>"Hey Sammy," he croaks tiredly, tugging the edge of the blanket up a little higher, and then sighing when it uncovers his feet in the process. He's just too damn long. </p><p>That same, sudden wash of relief sweeps over him, but Sammy is able to stay standing this time. </p><p>"Troy. You're looking dry," Sammy drawls, plucking at his exposed sock before carefully pulling the blanket from around his shoulders, adding another layer to the scant hospital bedsheets and taking the opportunity to tuck him in a little bit tighter around his ankles and feet, like a worried hen.</p><p>"Feelin' dry, Sammy," Troy says. "Can't say the same for you, looks like. Did they not even check you out? They've got me bundled up tighter than a newborn in a snow storm, afraid of me catchin' hypothermia. Are you feelin' alright? Did they even take your temperature?"</p><p>God help him, of course Troy is sitting in a fucking hospital bed, hours after being crashed off the road into a river, drowning, nearly dying, and worrying about <em>Sammy</em>. It makes his chest ache. </p><p>"They have more important things to worry about than my temperature, I'm fine," Sammy argues, finding a little nook to tuck himself into as he looks down at Troy, smiling as halfheartedly as he can manage at the other, "How are you feeling?"</p><p>"Tired," Troy says. "And like I can't get warm no matter what. I got a hot water bottle between my knees, a heatin' blanket on top of me and everything, and I still feel like I'm cold on the inside. But apart from that... I'm just real sad, Sammy. First thing I did when I woke up was ask the nurse about the news and-- shitfire, Grisham won. I just know he won in some part cause I lost all them Ron ballots."</p><p>"He won because he rigged the game in his favor," Sammy reminds, his anger extremely thinly-veiled, "You don't need to be worrying about that, though. Let me take care of Grisham and his goons, you focus on feeling better," He worries over Troy a bit more, fluffing his pillows and generally mothering him in the absence of a nurse's touch, "Don't give Grisham the satisfaction of not taking care of yourself, we clear?"</p><p>"You'll <em>take care of him?"</em> Troy chuckles softly. "You sound like a mobster, all of a sudden. I appreciate your fire, Sammy, but please don't do nothin' I'll actually have to arrest you for, no matter how justified it might be. And would you <em>sit down?</em> Lord almighty." </p><p>He pushes on Sammy's shoulder, shoving him back down into his seat beside Troy's bed. "Like it or not, I just played some kinda part in Ron losin' this election. Whether it was a big one or a little one-- it just ain't something I can get over. I can't just say 'shit happens' with this, Sammy. I gotta do somethin' to make this up to Ron-- somethin' <em>big</em>. I just don't know what'd even compare to losin' an election. He fought so god dang hard, Sammy... my heart's just broke to pieces."</p><p>"There's a difference between accountability and beating yourself up, Troy. There's nothing you could have done in this instance-- you were <em>personally</em> chauffeuring the ballots. You're damn right you get to say 'shit happens' after your car is forcibly shoved off the road. You couldn't help this, or I'm pretty sure your truck wouldn't be sinking in the middle of Saddle Creek," His foot is bouncing. He hated getting this worked up-- this must be how Ben felt all the time, and it was awful.</p><p>He holds up a hand before Troy can interrupt him with some other self-effacing remark, cutting him off even as  he leans back into the uncomfortable hospital chair, "The point is that we'll figure it out. One way or another. The town knows there's a divide now, maybe we can see some change." </p><p>Sammy's never been one for optimism-- and frankly, he still isn't-- but he absolutely cannot abide by a life where Troy feels guilty for something an evil son of a bitch like Gunderson put him up to participating in. He would not let Gunderson have that. No way.</p><p>"Folks in towns like this hate change," Troy sighs, his voice sad and low in his chest. He fiddles with the edge of his blanket, his brows scrunched together. "Even little change. There was a small riot over by the Bent 'N Dent few years back cause they decided to paint the outside an unpleasant shade of kelly green when it'd been white for 45 years. Folks said it was too distracting to motorists on the roadway, and brought it up to Grisham, who passed a motion makin' the owners paint it white again. So... I'm not feelin' too hopeful that we'll make much change, round these parts."</p><p>"You say that, but think of how much change already had to happen to get to this point," Sammy chides, voice tight, "Think of all the people who had to decide to not vote what they were comfortable with, in exchange for voting for what was <em>right</em>. Think of how many people've been behind Ron every step of the way, you don't think that's change?" Leaning onto the bed, Sammy takes Troy's hand in his, not thinking, "Lose faith in a corrupt, small-town election system, fine. But don't lose faith with those folks out there who're fighting for better, just like you, every day. Come on. What goes around comes around, right?"</p><p>"I hope you're right, Sammy," Troy sighs, squeezing his friend's hand. "I really do. Right now I'm just feelin' all kinds of helpless."</p><p>He sniffles wetly and scrubs at his face with his free hand, trying to chase away the blues before they have a chance to overtake him. His eyes are a bit shiny as he takes a deep breath and gives Sammy's hand another comforting squeeze, before resolving to change the subject to something that hopefully wouldn't upset him as much. </p><p>"Where's Loretta?" he asks. "Is she on her way? Did anybody tell her what happened?"</p><p>Sammy releases Troy's hand like it had burnt him, frowning as he  looks down at the hospital bed, "Yeah, the hospital did. I did. She knows you're okay but work is apparently..." He clicks his tongue as he sucks on a tooth, clearly irritated with what he was about to say. "Apparently work is really hectic right now. She says she'll be on her way as soon as things calm down." </p><p>He doesn't even sound like <em>he</em> believes it. He'd expected Troy to be upset-- hell, maybe some selfish, unfair part of him <em>hoped</em> Troy would be upset. But it's almost worse when Troy just nods and says in an understanding tone, </p><p>"Aw, yeah, that makes sense. I might get on outta here before she can even come around. Nothin's broken in me, 'cept my pride. I'm only here so they can make sure I don't get slapped with hypothermia or pneumonia. You really should get checked out, too-- or at least go home and get changed into some warm clothes."</p><p>"You're kidding me. At almost 9pm? What does Loretta do, run Channel 13 News? Even they go to pre-recorded programming after 8pm, except for a skeleton crew," Sammy sounds indignant at his friend's understanding tone. Leave it to Troy to put Sammy to shame, even from a hospital bed, "I told her she should leave anyway, I'm sure no one would miss her."</p><p>"Well, I wouldn't say that, considering," Troy shakes his head. "I'm sure she'll get here as soon as she can. She's--"</p><p>As if summoned by them talking about her, the door opens to Loretta coming in, still dressed in a skirt suit this late in the evening, looking down at her phone. Troy instantly breaks into a grin, but she takes a moment to finish whatever she's typing before slipping her phone in her purse. She narrows her eyes ever so slightly at Sammy, but bypasses him completely in order to put herself at Troy's other side. She leans in to give him a kiss on the cheek, and Sammy's heart lurches with how happy it makes Troy look. </p><p>"You made it in one piece. No maniac drivers on the roads bother you none?" Troy asks, trying to make light of the situation. </p><p>"Not a one," Loretta answers. "I actually know how to drive to avoid them, anyway."</p><p>It seems like a dig to Sammy, but Troy just laughs, and gives her hand a squeeze. "You got away from work okay? Did they give you much fuss?"</p><p>"I had to claw my way out the door, and they might still try to call me back, but I'm here for now," Loretta answers. </p><p>"Nice to see you back from the corporate overworld," Sammy drawls from the other side of Troy's bed, watching their sweet interaction with a growing twist of nausea in his stomach. He hates that he feels that way, and hates more that he can't shake it, despite their tentative truce. "We were worried he'd be discharged before they let you go."</p><p>"Well at least you were here to drive him home if that were the case," Loretta says dryly. </p><p>"How were things at the office? Everything must've been goin' crazy, what with... everything," Troy says. </p><p>"Crazy is an understatement," Loretta sighs, pinching her nose. "Between the press, the protestors, the indignant supporters and the security trying to keep them from tearing each other apart, the office was coming apart at the seams. Poor Mayor Grisham is about at the end of his rope with this whole affair. I'm just glad we can finally put this behind us and get back to business as usual."</p><p>Sammy can't help it. He laughs, rolling his eyes, "<em>Poor Mayor Grisham</em>," He repeats, and he seems to collect some dots-- "Oh, Loretta, I am so sorry, was your office hosting one of Grisham's supporter's rallies or something? Is that why you couldn't leave?" Laughing despite himself, he combs his hand through his hair, shaking his head. "No wonder you were being so oblique about it. What was it like? I can't even begin to think about being in a room with those blow-hards."</p><p>Loretta's face twists into one of disgust, while Troy suddenly looks nervous. "Troy, have you not told him?"</p><p>"It never came up," Troy says, in that tone of voice that makes it clear he'd hoped it never would. </p><p>"I work for Mayor Grisham," Loretta steamrolls on by. "I'm his campaign manager."</p><p>The silence that stretches over the room is deafening. Sammy feels almost wholly like a toddler, wishing he could go back in time and 'undo' a mistake. He hadn't wished for that superpower since... well more and more, recently, actually. </p><p>"Well, I have to say, Loretta that-- probably explains more than it ought to, right?" He asks, shaking his head.</p><p>"Alright, don't ya'll go hissin' at one another," Troy breaks the tension, sounding weary. "Loretta, you already know I voted for Ron, so don't you go feudin' with Sammy over the same dang thing."</p><p>"I'm not feuding," Loretta says primly. "He started it."</p><p>Sammy holds his hands up innocently, palms to the sky, "I didn't start anything," He says patiently, sounding frankly tired by the entire thing-- "I was just saying it... explains a lot." Sinking in his chair, he  rubs his hand over his face, shaking his head, "I'm glad you were able to make it, Loretta," Sammy says, and even sounds sincere as he says it.</p><p>"Well," she says with a soft huff, but doesn't seem to have anything to follow that up with. Sammy does see Troy reach for her hand, and she gives it just a little squeeze before pulling it away. Just then her phone rings, and she pulls it out of her purse, sighing as she looks at the screen. "It's Jaqueline, Troy, I need--"</p><p>"Yeah, yeah, of course," Troy says, with a nod of understanding. Loretta's already answered the call on her way out the door, chattering on about something, and Sammy watches Troy's shoulders sag. Sammy watches Loretta go, a barely-controlled look of annoyance on his face, clear as day as the door opens, then closes, and leaves the boys alone with each other again. </p><p>Another tense moment raises, only this one is broken by Sammy, who laughs humorlessly, shaking his head and hunching his shoulders, "Man, you must've really pissed off Grisham, personally. I thought I had it bad, he seems really determined to ruin your day," He sounds tense as he says it. Pulling the chair over with a scrape, Sammy leans forward to take his hand, "Lucky for you, I'm not on his payroll. So I'm not going anywhere."</p><p>"If anything I'd hope the Mayor'd be <em>thankin'</em> me for nearly gettin' dead in the river with all those ballots that coulda ruined his career," Troy says, somewhat bitterly.</p><p>"I'm sure if you'd died he'd have thanked your valiant efforts," Sammy offers sarcastically, "I think you being alive is the thing that's really bothering him."</p><p>The joke seems to hit a little too close to home, and Troy sags back against the pillows once more, tugging the blanket up to wrap around his chest. He sighs, and shakes his head. "I know you're wantin' to ask me how in the heck I wound up marryin' a Grisham supporter when I've been so vocally against him. But you won't ask cause you're tryin' to do better-- so I'll just say so. She didn't start workin' for him until after we were married. And to be frank, he didn't start showin' his true colors until you came in town and started causin' a scene anyhow. Before these last couple years, I had no reason to believe ill of the man. It wasn't till he started feudin' with private citizens that I realized I'd been fooled right along with the rest of 'em into thinkin' he was an upstanding man."</p><p>Sammy opens his mouth to argue, then closes it right away, not wanting to lie and risk Troy calling him out on the obvious. He wouldn't take it personally, of course not-- even Ben had only said good things about Grisham in the beginning, Sammy remembered that much, at least. But somewhere along the way he'd shown himself to not be a great man, and it was that man Sammy knew now. </p><p>"I didn't ask," Sammy reminds Troy wearily, though sounds appreciative that he'd been given answers, anyway, "But it sounds like Mayor Grisham was good at that. I think just last week Ben was telling me about a theory of all elected officials being part of a hivemind. That'd be wild."</p><p>Loretta re-enters the room with an apologetic sort of smile. "Troy, sweet heart," she says, coming around to the side of the bed Sammy isn't on and putting her hand on his chest. "Jaqueline accidentally deleted the G-60 forms for the entire campaign. She's turning herself inside out over it."</p><p>"Nothin' compared to what you'll do to her, right?" Troy says, his smile has a bit of sadness in it.</p><p>"Oh you have no idea," Loretta says sweetly. "Are you okay if I go? Shot-- er, Sammy will drive you home, right?"</p><p>"Sammy will," He replies with a raise of his hand, taking her mistake in stride. His voice is high and innocent, clearly on his best behavior again, "Drive safe, Loretta."</p><p>She just gives him an unamused little hum before kissing Troy on the forehead and heading for the door. At the doorway Troy calls out to her, "Seriously though, drive safe.This whole mess has me nervous of the roads."</p><p>Pausing, she gives him a little smile at the doorway and says, "Don't worry about it too much. I'm actually a safe driver."</p><p>Troy sighs as she leaves. The joke doesn't sit so well with him considering he'd been forced off the road in a brutal fashion, but it's just not an argument he's willing to have over something that was probably supposed to make him laugh anyway. He just sits back in the pillows and sniffles again, some warmth finally seeping back into his body from the blanket he's been swaddled in. </p><p>"You know, if you gotta go too, it's okay," Troy says without looking at Sammy. "Loretta can swing back again later."</p><p>"Nah," Sammy says, voice clear with false bravado.</p><p>His chest had felt like ice as Troy's wife departed, and he couldn't help but notice that the air seemed completely lighter with her gone. However, judging from the look of dejection on Troy's face, it was a one-sided observation. Instead, he settles back onto his chair, getting comfortable on the thick wood and thin, plastic cushion. </p><p>"Sorry, buddy, but you're gonna be lucky if you can take a piss without me knowing about it. I'm not letting you out of my sight again," Sammy laughs at the dramatic nature of his words, but he also makes absolutely no motion to leave, clearly actually planning on staying to keep a watch on him.</p><p>"I appreciate it, bud," Troy says, his eyes crinkling. "I don't think I'd much mind the company-- so long as you stay outside the bathroom door. I'm all kinds of spooked right now. You know, I went into this line of work with the understandin' it can get a little dangerous at time, but I guess I always figured the most danger I'd ever be in is some wackjob with a gun, or a collision durin' a chase. You know, action movie type stuff. But they said I wasn't even breathin' when you hauled me outta the water. I coulda honest-to-jesus died and that... scares me real bad."</p><p>Sammy goes quiet, very quiet. He looks away from the deputy at the space between them, empty as it was, letting Troy's words hang in the air. Hearing of Troy's imminent mortality <em>from</em> Troy wasn't any better. </p><p>Sammy's stomach goes tight with nausea, with nerves, "You and me both," Sammy finally says with a little breathless laugh, ducking his head as he stares at the grout between tiles on the floor beneath them. It sounds a little desperate, even to his own ears, so he claps his hands together, looking for a way to cut the silence that wasn't his own voice, "You... you don't remember any of it, do you?"</p><p>"Remember the rescue? Naw. I was out cold. I remember my truck goin' over the edge. I remember thinkin' that if this is how I was gonna die, I was pissed as hell it was cause of Gunderson sendin' me to collect the ballots in the first place. Then I remember the front end of my truck hittin' the water, and my face hit the steerin' wheel... and then I remember wakin' up beside you."</p><p>Sammy laughs, running his hand over his head, then over the armrest of the seat he was sat in, "You really gave the ol' college try to, uh, not live. For a sec there it really looked like you were going to..." With a frown working its way onto his face, he struggles with the memory, his nails scratching at the plasticky wood of the chair's armrest. "I was... really worried about you, bud."</p><p>"I think I woulda been just as worried about you if the tables were turned," Troy says, reaching out to pry Sammy's hand away from the armrest before he has a chance to scratch his nails to the quick, and he holds it instead. "I can't thank you enough for action-heroing it up and jumpin' in the water after me. I might not've made it if you didn't do that."</p><p>There's a silence after those words that feels hard to interrupt, like everything he possibly had to say was too petty or too callous to be worthy of it. Sammy, for his part, stares at their joined hands as if it might have a response to how he was feeling-- as if their joined hands could do the talking for him. They couldn't. </p><p>Finally, Sammy raises his opposite hand to cover both of theirs, holding Troy with both hands like he needed the reassurance that he was there and whole. "I couldn't let that happen," Sammy admits, his voice frank, very carefully scrubbed to emotional neutrality, lest the fear in his voice give him away.</p><p>"Troy, when I thought you might've..." He tries again, his words clumsy, heavy with meaning and sounding trivial as he says them, "Maybe it doesn't matter what I thought-- I'm just-- I'm glad you're here. And-- good. Safe." His notorious silver tongue was nowhere to be seen when he needed it, instead his throat closing around the words he struggled to express.</p><p>"No, no, it matters," Troy says, his other hand joining the place their hands are connected, so all four of them are tangled together. "Tell me what you thought, Sammy. I won't say nothin' about it if you don't want me to, I just-- I wanna hear it."</p><p>"You wanna hear it," Sammy repeats, almost like he's trying to convince himself of the fact. He still makes absolutely no move to express himself, a silence stretching between them again, though not as pregnant as the first. With a clearing of his throat and another shake of his head, Sammy twitches his hands like he's actually considering removing them, only to leave them in place at the last second. He couldn't pull his hand out of the pile, wouldn't interrupt that contact. </p><p>"I thought you were gone," Sammy starts, his voice heavy with swallowed emotion, "I was so scared, Troy. I was scared shitless. I don't think I usually would've jumped in after someone like that, but I thought about this place without you in it, and... Jesus, I-- I would rather jump in that Creek every time," He still doesn't look up at Troy through his talk, eyes focused solely on their held hands. He gives them a squeeze, "If something had happened to you out there, I... I never could've forgiven myself. I <em>had</em> to get you."</p><p>Troy feels his throat choke up and he clears it to try and fight back the frog, but he can already feel it forming. Tears brim in his eyes as he selfishly realizes that never in a million years could he expect to hear these kinds of things from Loretta. A guilty pit settles in his stomach and he squeezes Sammy's hands in return as the tears make tracks down his face. </p><p>"I 'preciate you sayin' that, bud... Sammy," he says, his voice all thick with tears and emotion. "I don't think I'd much like to live in this town without you, neither."</p><p>Oh, he must be just about the worst husband in the world. Sitting in a bed, holding hands with someone other than his spouse, crying about how much he loves them. Crying about how much <em>they</em> love <em>him</em>. Selfishly wishing his actual wife would have stuck around even though he knows how crazy work is for her as the campaign manager of a winning incumbent on election night, and even more selfishly seeking the emotional intimacy he craves from her from another person. And even though he recognizes it, he can't quite seem to get himself to stop. And Sammy, for his part, tries not to think about it. He tries not to think about Troy's words, or how they make his stomach hot. He tries not to think about his friend, sweet and innocent and scared and alone in a goddamn hospital bed, saying shit he doesn't mean.</p><p>That's harsh. Realistically, Sammy has to believe that Troy means what he says-- Troy doesn't say anything, otherwise. But he'd just had an emotional, scary night. It was rational to cross some wires, under such circumstances.</p><p>And stupid, selfish, desperate Sammy was fine with capitalizing; Starved for intimacy, starved for compassion, starved for touch-- Jesus Christ, just holding Troy's hand was enough to set him off-- he took whatever Troy could give, even if the tears weren't for him, even if it wasn't Sammy he wanted to be sitting with right now. He knew that. He could accept that, even if it hurt like a bitch. </p><p>Sammy's tongue drags over his lower lip as he stares at their joined hands, then Troy's face, torn like he wants to say something, silent because he knows that, in good conscience? He can't. "Troy, listen, I..."</p><p>"I came as fast as I could!" Ben bursts suddenly into the room, pouring water over whatever embers might have been flickering between Sammy and Troy-- or maybe that's just wishful thinking from Sammy. "Jesus, I'm so sorry it took so long, the roads were crazy because of-- well the whole thing, plus the press, and the protestors-- anyway I'm here now and I brought checkers and juice boxes."</p><p>Troy releases Sammy's hands, even though it almost hurts to do so, and gives his other friend a warm smile as he mops at his face with the edge of the blanket. "Well that sounds just super, Ben. I'm glad you could make it, bud."</p><p>He's not sure what Sammy was going to say. But he has some assumptions he would never dare voice out loud, never in a million years. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The radio was an escape, usually. A time for Sammy to relax, kick back, and talk to some random strangers about random happenstance. It was supposed to be the one time of day Sammy could perfectly control, from the pleasant conversation to the peppy commercials that played during their ad breaks. He liked the radio because it was so basic, as far as live entertainment was concerned. Just him and Ben, some microphones, and some fun conversation.</p><p>Except tonight, the conversation wasn't so fun. And it wasn't so planned. </p><p>A montage of his own words come back to haunt him. His career sounded so callous, laid out flat like that, and worst of all, Sammy couldn't think of shit to argue against it. How could he? Sammy more than anyone in King Falls knew damn well what he'd built his brand on. He knew the kind of friendzone-bitch boys he catered to, knew exactly the role he was filling in their sad excuse for a life. Sammy couldn't bear to hear it, couldn't stand to look Ben in the eye-- how could he? Ben was a good kid, a truly good person. He probably thought Sammy had been, too. He knew better now. </p><p>So he was hiding, at least until he could catch his breath. At least until he could think of something to say, something that could possibly explain how he was different now, unruled by ratings or whatever would get the biggest shock laughs. </p><p>Tucked just around the corner from the side door to the Radio Station, Sammy presses the heel of his hand to his eye, suppressing a migraine before it could even begin. He can see, if only barely, the lights from the parking lot casting an orange glow on the quiet nook of trees just slightly visible from the sidewalk. But the night was quiet, otherwise. Perfect for thinking about how to explain away an entire life's work.</p><p>Not many people come up to the station this late at night, and were Sammy in his right mind, he might have been curious about who was coming to their door at this hour. As it is, he's barely keeping it together, barely keeping from breaking down crying with helplessness. The listeners would definitely be able to hear it if he came back with tears in his voice. </p><p>He hears a car door open, and close, and then the telltale sound of a phone ringtone going off, followed by a heavy sigh, and then of all people, Troy's voice start talking. </p><p>"I don't wanna hear nothin' you have to say unless it's <em>sorry</em>, Loretta." And oh, that <em>does</em> catch Sammy's attention. He'd like to tell himself it's because he's glad to hear what sounds like Troy sticking up for himself against Loretta, but deep down in his petty, grudge-holding heart he knows it will just make him feel a little bit better to know he's not the only person having a horrible night. He's much too far away from where Troy's standing near the front door to hear the other side of the conversation, but hearing Troy is more than enough. "No-- no! I said no, and I meant it. I don't wanna <em>hear</em> it. If you tell me one more time you did it just cause you were <em>told</em> to, I'm liable to put my foot through somethin', God as my witness. You got free will, Loretta, and one hell of a stable job with the Mayor, I ain't believin' for one second that you woulda been fired on the spot if you passed the project on to someone else!" </p><p>Pressing his back flat against the uneven brick wall, Sammy leans closer to the corner. He can hear Troy's footsteps on the sidewalk, the crunch of his boots in the dirt. He's pacing, judging by the steps forward and retreating, as though on a metronome.</p><p>Sammy knows he shouldn't listen. Like the goddamn grocery store, it was really none of his business what sort of conversations Troy and Loretta had when they thought no one else was listening. This, though, was different. This was about him. It was about Loretta. Sammy's blood turns to ice as he stares at the ground in front of him, continuing to listen, hoping he's proven wrong about what he's starting to assume.</p><p>"Well-- I'm sorry! I'm sorry I'm raisin' my voice to you, I know I am.  But god dang it Loretta, you <em>know</em> how I feel about this. You knew better! You're a grown ass woman and you can make your own grown ass woman choices, and you <em>chose</em> to accept the job from the Mayor! You didn't just work on the dangblasted tape Loretta, you oversaw the whole goddang project! Sammy's my best friend in the world, how could you <em>do</em> a thing like this? Regardless of how you feel about Sammy, you know how<em> I</em> feel about Sammy!"</p><p>There's a moment of pause, Troy's boots stop moving, and Sammy can just ever so faintly hear the sound of a voice hollering over a tinny phone line a couple yards away, followed by Troy sighing heavily. </p><p>"For the last dang time, Loretta, me havin' friends ain't an <em>attack</em> on our marriage. I'm not-- heck yes I heard the dang tape, everyone did! Yes, I <em>know</em> the sort of things he said, you and your li'l group of Sammy-haters made it perfectly gotdamn clear the type of show he used to do!" another pause. "Well no, it don't change how I view him! Way I see it, even if he did used to be that type of way, he ain't that way no more! And that kind of change means somethin' to me, unlike some people!"</p><p>Sammy has to cover his mouth to stop the relieved laugh that threatened to bubble past his throat. His face felt warm, the impulse to reveal himself was strong, but he couldn't. Not before, maybe not at all now that he has confirmation the argument was about him. He wouldn't want Troy to feel used or embarrassed for defending Sammy to his wife. Shoulders going loose against the wall, Sammy stares up at the sky as he continues listening to the argument, allowing it to register secondarily to his own thoughts.</p><p>How long had the project been going on? How long was Loretta aware of his career? How many times had they looked each other in the eye and acted respectful, while she was working on this? The fact she was able to lie so well was almost concerning. It <em>would be</em> concerning if Sammy had any interest in being her friend in the first place. As it was, he didn't think that friendship would work out very well. </p><p>"What are you talkin' about, you called <em>me!</em> I'm not goin' out of my way to antagonize you! I'm just fed up to here with you and Sammy's petty li'l war! A war which I'm not mistaken has gotten <em>real</em> one-sided as of late," Troy sighs heavily. "I don't know what type of man you think I am, Loretta, but if Sammy <em>was</em> still goin' off about you, I'd've shut it down by now. I ain't about to let him go around bad-mouthin' you, and I ain't gonna let you do it, neither. And you must've known that, or else you wouldn't've been hidin' your project for all this time."</p><p>A pause, a sputter of anger, and then Troy's calm voice spikes back up into indignant territory. "I don't rightly care what <em>Derek</em> woulda done! You ain't married to <em>Derek!</em> You're married to <em>me</em>, and you attacked <em>my</em> best friend! You-- no no, lemme finish. If I ain't allowed to compare you to Lindsay then you ain't allowed to compare me to Derek, clear? Yeah-- yeah, I thought so."</p><p>Derek? Sammy mouths the name as he stares at nothing, eyebrows drawn together. Loretta's old husband? Had she really brought him into the mix? She must've really been desperate to get a point in. Troy sounds mad. He stares at his hands, finally digging his phone out of his pocket, weighing his options. </p><p>He could call Troy and give him an out to what sounded like a miserable, circular conversation, he could go around the corner pretending to be on a phone call so he interrupted them with some sort of cartoonish gag. Or, he could sit against the wall and do absolutely nothing at all. He's always been pretty good at taking the cowardly way out. </p><p>"Yeah, well, you're right about that, at least," Troy says, his tone still tinged with fire. "This conversation ain't over by a long shot. You-- you know what, <em>fine</em>, sleepin' on the couch is better than sleepin' in the bad vibes you're liable to stir up in the bedroom in between passive-aggressively stealin' all the blankets anyhow! Now if you'll <em>excuse</em> me, I'm goin' into the radio station to give my <em>best friend</em> some much needed love and attention after you mighta just ruined his whole life, and I'm turnin' my phone <em>off</em>. Good <em>night</em>, Loretta."</p><p>Sammy hears a beep, followed by a soft string of muttered words from Troy he can't quite piece together, the chime of a phone being shut off, followed by the sound of a car door opening and slamming shut as Troy chucks his phone onto the seat of his cruiser. </p><p>Sammy hears the sound of a car door opening and shutting, but he can't risk poking his head out further to see if it was Troy leaving or coming. So instead, he sits in silence, eyebrows furrowed, waiting to hear footsteps, or the door opening again. He sits there for what feels like eons, but is less than in a minute in real time.</p><p>Finally he decides to face the reaper, turning around the corner and glancing into the parking lot-- Yep, there's Troy's car, right where he would have left it. And it isn't long before he spots Troy heading for the front door, though Sammy quickly ducks his head, jaw clenching as he tries to think of something witty to say, something clever, something that could alleviate the tension with one culminating remark. </p><p>"...Hey," He says, without a clever bone in his body.</p><p>Troy pauses, his hand on the doorknob leading to the station, a box of something in his other hand. He just stands there for a moment and Sammy watches as he practically cycles through all seven stages of grief as he comes to terms with the fact that Sammy probably heard his entire conversation with Loretta if he'd been standing right around the corner. </p><p>What could Troy possibly say? He meant everything he said. He didn't realize Sammy was listening, but he would have said it all again if he knew he was. He would say it right to his face-- planned to, in fact. But being caught like this, it takes him off guard. </p><p>"Hey," he replies, because he can't think of a clever thing to say either.</p><p>"Heard the tape?" Sammy asks, just to get it out there, just to confront it right away. He knows Troy heard the tape. Troy knows he knows. But he's desperate not to talk about Loretta, begging to talk about anything else. What else is there to say that hasn't been said and overheard, already?</p><p>"Yeah," Troy says, swallowing hard. Sammy watches the tendons in his neck stand out as he fights to say something too harsh, practically blowing steam out his nose. "I heard it."</p><p>Sammy nods, glancing at the box in his hand, "You brought something to celebrate?"</p><p>"Naw," Troy looks down at the box with a sigh. "This was unrelated. I was already on my way up here with some treats to celebrate ya'll second anniversary when I heard the tape. Sorta seems like poor taste now that you mention it."</p><p>Shaking his head, Sammy gestures to the door, reaching to pull it open when Troy doesn't, and gesturing for him to head inside, "Ben'll be excited. That kid loves his sweets."</p><p>Troy pushes on the door instead to force it back closed, and leans over to set the box down on the hood of his cruiser. Sammy briefly sees that they're cupcakes that spell out "happy anniversary" across the frosting, before his vision is suddenly obscured by Troy's chest. </p><p>It takes him just a split second to realize that Troy is hugging him. And then just a split second longer than that to wonder how long it's actually been since somebody hugged him like this. Full body, both arms, chest to chest hugging.</p><p>Sammy goes very still in Troy's embrace, like he's not sure how he should react. He knows how he <em>wants</em> to react. The static in his head conflicts with the ice he feels everywhere else, fire fighting water, the want to put up his defenses conflicting wholly with the absolute <em>need</em> to be held. Eventually, need gives into want. His shoulders curve, and without saying a thing, Sammy ducks his head into Troy's chest and sinks into the hug, arms slipping around his waist.</p><p>Troy just rests his chin on top of Sammy's head and legs the embrace linger for maybe a little longer than is strictly professional, or if it were scrutinized too heavily, strictly platonic, even. </p><p>Troy isn't a foolish man. He might sound it, even look like it to some, but it's been said before that he's got eyes like a hawk-- and he didn't get those from nowhere. Especially ever since Sammy confirmed for him that he wasn't heterosexual, all of those old trains of thought Troy would have about Sammy's words and actions towards him that he used to consider 'selfish fantasty' have become more and more clear for what they actually are. </p><p>If he were a good husband, he would tell Sammy outright that he isn't interested. He would lay down a boundary that Sammy should keep his distance. But if history has proven one thing, it's that Troy Krieghauser isn't a very good husband, despite his best efforts. </p><p>He can't think of a thing to say to Sammy now, though. The embrace lingers for so long that Troy starts to become comfortable in Sammy's arms in a real concerning way, so he finally grips Sammy's shoulders and pulls him back so he can look down at him with an expression full of grief and love. </p><p>Troy never does get to think of a thing to say, that night. Greg Frickard pulls up to the station with Emily in his car, and it's up to Sammy and Troy to hold Greg back with a verbal beating while Ben comes to the horrible conclusion inside that he's lost Emily for a second time. </p><p>There isn't time to process exactly what that lengthy embrace in the parking lot meant for them together, but they certainly spend the next little while thinking about what it means for them individually. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>troy's assault is mentioned in vague detail in this chapter</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In his every day life, Troy likes to think of himself as not a very angry man. Having been raised by a father with a temper streak the size of the Nile, a mother with her own brand of passive-aggressive rage issues, and a long line of step-fathers who each saw him as a threat to both their masculinity and place as "man of the house," Troy has gotten the art of swallowing his anger down to a science over the last twenty-seven years. </p><p>But the past few months must be a test from God Almighty himself, because Lord have mercy if Troy's temper hasn't been <em>pushed</em> and <em>pushed</em> and <strong><em>pushed</em> </strong>to the breaking point more times than he can count. </p><p>First with Frickard taking credit for what he, Ben, Sammy, the Jensens and Libbydales all fought for. </p><p>Then with Loretta leading the charge on that fucking tape attacking Sammy. <br/>
<br/>
And finally this most recent event, being tied up in his own cruiser by none other than Jacob and Pearl Williams, made to feel not only like a fool but a sham of an officer, on top of being groped, rubbed on and all manner of other activities he did <em>not</em> consent to. That alone would have been a big enough bruise to his ego, but then for Loretta to accuse him of being unfaithful for it? No amount of arguing his innocence, his total non-participation in the matter would convince her. The only thing that took her rage down a few pegs was having the station's recording of the evening played for her by Ben, on Troy's request. </p><p>He's more than just a little sore, and more than just a little bit clinging to the very end of his tether. He can feel something's set to give, and as he patrols by the library around 1AM and catches sight of a figure moving inside a building that is absolutely shut down by now, he can't help but feel like the universe is throwing him a bone. </p><p>Maybe it's not healthy for him to be looking forward to taking out a little of his pent-up aggression on a perp. And truthfully he knows he'll probably flag the moment he actually puts hand on some poor book-snooping soul-- he's never been a particularly violent man. But there's some caveman part of his brain that's looking forward to the moment of fear in the perp's eyes before Troy inevitably caves in and treats them kinder on the way to the car-- just like he always does. </p><p>Unless it's Jacob Williams. Then all bets are fucking off. </p><p>In theory, Sammy was sent on a simple enough errand. Run to the library, get a book. Emily had told Sammy where they keep their spare key, she'd even described, in detail, both the book and its location. Go figure that Sammy couldn't even find the lights in the damn building to begin with. </p><p>Creative as always, Sammy made do. It was 2017, after all. The flashlight on his phone worked fine. So, phone raised like a caveman with a torch, Sammy prowls through the library, silent as a grave. The reflection of Troy's headlights doesn't even register as he pulls into the parking lot-- Sammy's eyes are too focused on the rows after rows of books, his eyes squinting up at the sections marked above, trying to match it to the layout Emily had described in his head.</p><p>Honestly, it should be Ben prowling around the dark library like this. He's the one with the twenty-something year old knees and the desperation to please Emily-- but ever since her Himinist research has gone in full swing, she's been unable to talk to Ben with any kind of regularity. She'd explained to Sammy that if Greg caught her in communication with him, hell would break loose before she could even bring her big story to light. </p><p>And so that left Sammy undignifiedly shuffling around a library past midnight, muttering to himself about a history textbook from the 50's that she ultra-super-promises is in the reference section. He might be less confident about his choices if he knew there was an angry, trigger-happy officer of the law creeping up behind him. </p><p>Troy has often said that being a cop in real life is so much different from being a cop on TV. It's so much less glamorous and exciting. Rarely, if ever, does Troy get to feel like an action hero. But this is one of those rare occasions. </p><p>He'd thought that perhaps he was just witnessing one of the librarians coming back for some kind of work-related thing-- but he knows all the librarians who work here by heart. All but one of them are women, and he'd heard a soft muttering and distinctly male voice from a distance while he was letting himself in the unlocked door as quiet as a mouse, and the only male librarian who works here is about five foot three, considerably shorter than the at least six-foot perp creeping through the library in the dark. </p><p>Without so much as announcing his presence, Troy pounces. The phone hits the ground flashlight-down, plunging them both into darkness as Sammy's stomach hits the wall hard enough to knock the wind out of him, just in time for him to hear Troy's voice in his ear. </p><p>"Fraid I'm about to ruin your night, son. This is private property," Troy says, easily snapping both of Sammy's wrists behind his back and holding them in one hand as his handcuffs jingle in the other. "You're under arrest for breaking and entering." </p><p>"What--?" </p><p>Sammy Stevens becomes aware of many things, all at once; One, apparently Troy is in the library. Two, Troy really wasn't kidding when he said he was taking it easy on him that day on the street. And finally, the timeframe for Sammy to get a handle on this 'thing' he had for Troy was had absolutely come. Pain lances up his back and across his shoulders as Troy grinds his face into the wall, and Sammy sickeningly cannot help the trickle of pleasure that makes his stomach warm and his throat feel like it was closing.</p><p>"It's me, Troy! It's Sammy!" Sammy says very quickly, speaking very fast and well aware of it, driven by the fire in his gut that's only getting worse the longer he can feel Troy's breath on his neck and the warmth of his body behind him.</p><p>"What?" Troy freezes up all at once, his hand on his cuffs, his other hand still holding Sammy around the wrists. Some stupid part in his brain is half convinced he'd just been tricked, but there's no earthly way this could be a trick. He steps back very quickly and stoops down to pick up Sammy's phone, turning the blinding light towards him. </p><p>Sure enough, there's Sammy Stevens, squinting back at him, looking very sheepish with his back against the wall. </p><p>"You got about five seconds to explain yourself before I arrest  you for <em>real</em>," Troy says, his temper short-- equally embarrassed.</p><p>Squinting into the light of his own phone, Sammy holds his hand up to battle the glare, frowning as his brows tug over his eyes, "What do you think I'm doing, Troy? I'm in the library at night, for God's sake,"  He huffs sounding indignant, like he wouldn't otherwise be caught dead in such a place. "Emily asked me to get a book. She would ask Ben, but Frickard has her on lockdown. She told me where it was, but not where the goddamn light switch is, so I'm in here like an idiot scanning individual book covers with my iphone flashlight-- which, if you could maybe point that away, or turn it off altogether, you're gonna make me see spots, bud."</p><p>Troy sighs and hands the phone back to Sammy, heading for the wall to turn on the light switch for the immediate area, the flourescents lazily buzzing and clicking as they sputter on, dousing the area in dim yellow light. </p><p>"I shoulda figured it'd be somethin' like that. Just my luck," Troy mutters, hooking his hand cuffs back onto his belt. </p><p>Sammy winces, both at the light and the sudden return of his dignity, like it hit him too fast, or something. Taking his phone and turning off the flashlight, he awkwardly mutters his thanks at the overhead lights. Of course they'd be right there. Of course Troy would know, on instinct, where to find them. </p><p>"Listen buddy, want me to turn the lights back off and we can try again?" Sammy asks gently, not liking the downtrodden look on Troy's face. He really looked like he'd been looking forward to that bust, "Maybe we can scrap a bit, I'll call you a 'rotten pig', the whole nine yards," Nudging Troy, he adds, "I'll even let you use the handcuffs if you ask nicely." He was teasing. It was a joke. That pesky, gnawing hunger in his gut said otherwise, but he was pretty sure it was a joke.</p><p>"Don't you start with me," Troy snaps. Actually <em>snaps</em>. Troy isn't the snapping kind, and he's especially never snapped at <em>Sammy</em> before. Sammy's heard him go off on Loretta a couple times by now, but his anger has never been directed at Sammy like this before. It's kind of concerning how much it makes Sammy's belly go tight. "I'm just about at the end of my rope and I ain't in the mood to play around."</p><p>"Oh, is this it? Are we starting?" Sammy deflects, because the only other option is taking it to heart, and taking it to heart means he's gotta squint at that pesky warmth issue that's currently trickling into his arms and legs from his core, making it very hard to move from the spot he'd been rooted to.</p><p>Waving a hand, Sammy rolls his shoulders and clears his throat-- "Gimme a second to get into character, you really slammed the hell out of me with that sneak attack," He teases, still trying to alleviate Troy's dour mood.</p><p>"I <em>mean</em> it, Sammy," Troy says, taking a single step towards him that makes Sammy feel instantly like he's just a foot tall. His back hits the wall as a hot plunge settles in his belly. He's seen Troy in action now, seen how he looks at Jacob-- and knows full well what just happened recently <em>with</em> Jacob. It's no wonder Troy has such a short fuse right now. "I ain't playin' with you. I've half a mind to arrest you for real just for wastin' my time."</p><p>"Now, Officer, you can't arrest me for not doing anything. I had a key," Sammy reminds him, holding up the key in question-- maybe not the smartest idea, considering how eager Troy seemed to be to find a reason. But, considering how tightly-wound Troy was? Maybe he needed the vent. Realistically, he knew Troy would never actually hurt him, and any threat of civil action would probably last about as far as the patrol car. </p><p>Maybe that's why Sammy felt brave enough to actually spin the key in question around his finger, like some sort of old-west gunslinger, adding, "Worst case, bud, you can charge me for not knowing where the light switch is, and that seems like a waste of <em>your</em> time."</p><p>"Don't test me right now, Sammy, I'm serious," Troy says, the anger his voice giving way to exhaustion as he deposits himself heavily in one of the chairs nearby, taking his hat off to run his hand through his hair. "Just get your book and skedaddle. I ain't in a mood to play around."</p><p>"Wait, are you actually on the clock right now?" Sammy asks, glancing out the window to the parking lot. Sure enough, he sees two cars-- Troy's cruiser parked next to his. "And you're <em>sitting?"</em> He clarifies, frowning down at Troy as he approaches the chairs, "What's going on, Troy?"</p><p>"I'm sorry, I don't-- I shouldn't have lost my temper on you like that," Troy sighs, setting his hat down on the table and taking his glasses off to rub his hand over his face. "I'm just... under a lotta stress lately. I seem to be losin' my cool a li'l too often as of late. It ain't a very charming look."</p><p>"Hey, if anyone could make a temper flare up charming, it'd be you," Sammy says without thinking. The book forgotten, Sammy instead takes the few steps to the small stool beside Troy's chair, perching on it, "What's been going on? More of... the same?" They never really spoke about the fight with Loretta, but Sammy can't imagine it'd gone away.</p><p>"Gunderson's been ridin' my backside so hard I've got road rash, ever since the incident with the Williamses," Troy sighs. "And Loretta-- she's-- mmgh--" He sits back in his chair, sighing heavily as he tips his head back to look up at the dim, flickering lights overhead. "I've been sleepin' in the basement for about a week now, since that happened."</p><p>"You've been sleeping in the <em>basement?</em> Not even the couch? Why?" Sammy asks, sounding shocked and ignoring the cool slice of anger that spiked at the thought of Loretta giving Troy a hard time.</p><p>"The couch in the basement is comfier than the one in the living room," Troy mutters dimly. "You remember how-- you know, when it was happenin', I said Loretta would be sore that I saw Pearl with her top off? I wasn't makin' a joke when I said that."</p><p>Sammy looks at Troy, waiting for him to elaborate, the silence between them long and pronounced, "You're joking," He says, finally, his voice low with derision and skepticism, "She's mad at you for being forced to-- Troy, seriously?"</p><p>"Seriously," Troy says, propping his elbow on his arm rest and resting his face in his hand. "She's madder'n hell at me for seein' another woman topless. Said I was puttin' off <em>vibes</em> that suggested I wanted it, or it wouldn't have happened. All that shit. Got her to back off finally by playin' her the damn tape when she wouldn't believe me-- even though<em> I</em> came to <em>her</em> to tell her about it, so it wasn't like I was even hidin' nothin' and she found out from someone else. She's still lockin' the door at night, and honestly, I'm so mad at her right now I <em>prefer</em> the couch. I dunno what else I could possibly do to convince Loretta I ain't an unfaithful man. I've just about had it."</p><p>"Well, you know we have our history so I'm obviously biased, but... I have to agree with you," Sammy combs a hand through his hair. Loretta made him feel gross, she really did. To make Troy defend himself against such allegations, after an experience like what he'd endured? "I mean, take this however you like, but you're a good looking man. If you'd wanted to cheat on Loretta before I'm sure you've have more than ample opportunity to do so."</p><p>Reaching out, Sammy touches Troy's arm, briefly, "It's good you're sticking to your guns on this, Troy. You didn't do anything wrong."</p><p>"Honestly? You got no idea. Most of Loretta's paranoia has come over the years from gals and gents takin' an interest in <em>me</em>. Half of 'em knew I was married, too. Loretta never could seem to tell the difference between folks bein' interested in me, and me bein' interested in folks," Troy says, standing back up out of his chair. Something about Sammy's hand on his arm makes him feel like he's got lightning buzzing through his body.</p><p>Sammy's up, too, not wanting to lose him or scare him off. If Troy needed someone to be there for him right now he would goddamn be there for him, "She knows you have your pick of the litter. She's insecure, that's all it is, and it is entirely her problem," He says, holding out a hand to him, like Troy was an angry tiger that was two seconds from jumping at the first person in its way.</p><p>Honestly, Troy <em>felt</em> like a tiger. He's hurt, he's tired, he's been fighting both for his marriage and job, both of which feel like a losing battle. And Sammy's here-- of course Sammy's here. Sammy's always right there when he needs him, sometimes right there even when he doesn't know he needs him. Supportive, generous, affectionate Sammy. </p><p>By now Troy has a little experience looking for love in all the wrong places. A long lifetime of being starved for affection has lead him to make some pretty bad choices in the past, and he can feel one of those bad choices being presented to him now. Loretta was so convinced he was a cheater, anyway. It took him reliving one of the worst nights of his life by her side in surround sound for her to even consider the fact that he might be telling the truth. When he has to fight so hard for her approval, sometimes the dark little parts of him wonder if he ought to at all. </p><p>There's a right way and a wrong way to do things, he tells himself. There's a right way to tell Loretta he's tired of the way she treats him, and it isn't by selfishly, vindictively proving her right because he's been backed into a corner for so many years of finding it impossible to please her. There's a wrong way to go about it, too, and it's six foot one and standing right in front of him with his hand held aloft. Troy leans forward just a couple inches, just enough to feel Sammy's palm connect with the center of his chest. It's sickening and heartbreaking all at once, how much that little tiny bit of contact makes his entire body feel warm in only the way the truly touch-starved can understand. </p><p>They touch, and Sammy can feel the energy between them. It runs like a current, rooting him to the spot, keeping his fingers tethered to Troy's chest. Static raises the little hairs up his arms and across his back, and it's that same electricity that whisks away his breath before he can really savor it. He keeps his eyes on Troy's face, and while he can't really see him take another step, he can feel the weight on his hand grow.</p><p>Troy gives himself to the touch, and Sammy wants nothing more than to return it. From flat to curled, Sammy's fingers turn into a loose fist, clenching to hold on the pristine tan shirt he wore on the clock. He doesn't hold hard enough to keep him anywhere, but its enough to keep him there, with him. It's enough to keep him present. </p><p>At this time of night the library is silent, and before long the motion sensor in the lights kicks off and casts them in the harsh relief of the night. Long streaks of light from the lights outside wash the Library in swaths of orange light and blue shadow-- Sammy and Troy were also cast in this marble twilight, Sammy just able to make out the look in Troy's eye as his thumb twitches against his chest, nail catching against his skin.</p><p>Troy can feel himself about to make a very bad decision, and he can feel that he won't be able to stop himself, either. He doesn't think he even wants to. </p><p>"<em>All ears this is Bird-- we have a possible 10-32 over by Bryson and Grace, need any units in the area responding, 10-39 authorized--</em>" </p><p>The crackle of the radio is the only thing that puts Troy's good senses back in his mind, and he takes a step back. The motion lights flick back on and he feels the heat seeping out of his body as soon as his chest breaks contact with Sammy's hand. He knows what was about to happen-- he knows he wanted it, too. He knows that makes him exactly the kind of man Loretta's afraid he is, but he doesn't have time to unpack it right now. </p><p>Pinching the button he asks, "Krieghauser. Who's got the gun?"</p><p>"Clyde Williams."</p><p>"Son of a bitch," Troy sighs angrily, and he gives Sammy a look that communicates in just a glance that he knows full well what almost just happened, before taking another step back. "I've gotta go stop a man from ruinin'  his life tonight. Get your book and make tracks, Sammy. I'll... I'll see ya later." </p><p>He can feel heat on his back as if the library is on fire all over again as he trots away from it, flicking on his sirens before he's even out of the parking lot. He's got a lot to think about-- but he has at least the next hour or so to procrastinate in the form of curbstomping his second least-favorite Williams boy.</p><p>He leaves Sammy to stand rooted in place. He stands there long after Troy turns to leave, long after he sees the red and blue lights flick on, and even long after his tail-lights are over the hill and down the street. In fact, it's only the clicking of the motion lights that has Sammy moving again, shattering the moment a second time as he regains his senses.</p><p>Stupidly, he fumbles for his phone, finding Emily's instructions for the book's location and aimlessly heading in the correct direction this time, aided by a general ability to see. He's unthinkingly searching for the name, his brain buzzing with what had just happened, what had just almost-happened, and what very well <em>could</em> happen. </p><p>Where did this leave them? What had he done? Nothing, he had to remind himself, nothing had happened. Troy had vented about work and his home life. Sammy had listened. At some point Sammy had touched his chest-- but nothing had <em>happened</em>. </p><p>So why did Sammy keep playing that look in his minds' eye? That knowing, thoughtful look Troy had thrown Sammy's way at the last second. He knew. Sammy knew, absolutely, but that look removed any argument of ignorance that he might have wanted to make, for his own solace. No-- he'd known just what that touch meant. He'd known what it was. He hadn't pulled away, though.</p><p>It's pure luck that Sammy finds the book in question after too long, but it is right where Emily says it was, down to the color of the book bindings around it. Pocketing it and shooting her a quick text for confirmation, Sammy turns a little too quickly toward the exit, the library stiflingly warm since Troy had left. Odd, considering it had been so cold prior to their... misunderstanding. </p><p>Locking up behind him, Sammy doesn't really stop moving until he's in his car, and only then does he take a breath, hands grasping at the steering wheel as he stares at nothing but the forest surrounding the parking lot. He takes one steadying breath, then another, until he can't hear the hammer of his own heart in his ears.</p><p>"Good one, Stevens," Sammy says, shifting the car into reverse as he finally works the anxious shaking out of his fingers and regains the composure to operate a vehicle, "That's not going to be weird next time, for sure."</p><p>He shifts the car into gear and heads out of the lot to Emily's. If he could get this book to her, maybe one good thing could come out of tonight-- aside from the giddy nerves still burning a hole in his gut.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There were many things Sammy Stevens has had to forgive himself for over the years. His idiot dudebro shock jock personality, his relationship with Lily falling apart when she refused to come with them, his relationship with his parents ending the way they did. Over the years he's found the bar for what he found morally reprehensible getting higher and higher. </p><p>But in the weeks that followed their experience in the library, Sammy is having a hard time forgiving himself for being <em>upset</em> that Troy and Loretta's marriage sees a startling turn around. He should be thrilled that his best friend's marriage unexpectedly lifted up out of the gutter upon Troy's suspension from the force. He would have expected Loretta to be more furious than ever, but according to Troy, the instant she saw him hit rock bottom, she turned her attitude around and invited him back into the bedroom, after two weeks. And Sammy feels like a horrible person for being angry that Troy took her up on the offer, rather than tell her to take a hike after making him sleep on a couch for two weeks because he was molested against his will. </p><p>He should be celebrating the fact that Troy and Loretta have made up. He should be happy for his friend. He shouldn't be bitterly clinging to the vain hope that Troy would have prioritized Sammy, after the tape fiasco. Prioritized Sammy and that strange, gut-wrenching moment they'd almost shared in the library. </p><p>But of course not. Troy is the best man he knows, and the best man he knows wouldn't go for a man like Sammy, with his mistakes and his pain and his penchant for pushing people away. Of course Troy would remain committed and faithful to his wife. Sammy had heard the stories. He knew what a storybook start his and Loretta's relationship had. He knew there was no competing even if part of him never really would have belonged to Troy even if they did, by some miracle, wind up together. Some part of Sammy would always belong to Jack, and ever since learning what he knows now thanks to Debbie, some part of Sammy will be in the void. It never would have worked between him and Troy, anyway. </p><p>It seems like the energy of the universe shifted in Troy's favor. Sure, he lost his job, but his and Loretta's relationship seems to be stronger than ever. They're even seriously talking about kids again, though Troy is adamant that he has to get back to work, first. And all that good energy heading his way means it had to be taken away from someone else. </p><p>And Sammy turns out to be that someone else, when he's outed on the air by that slimy, frog-loving sleazeball, Frickard. </p><p>Sammy's emotions, afterward, feel too big for his body. His anger twitches out of his fingers, his sorrow settles in his chest, making him sick with it, his frustration lights every nerve on fire. Between Frickard outing him on air and Sammy's temper tantrum leading to him having that goddamn moment live for the world to hear, Sammy became a cesspool for intrusive thoughts.</p><p>A town that once encouraged him with their forthright acceptance of its citizens turns dark, overnight. If he thought it was bad with just Loretta having a personal vendetta on him, half the town was much, much worse. He found himself double parked at all hours of the day, his favorite items at the grocery store, items that he was well aware only a few people in town bought, mysteriously fell out of stock-- even the hellos he said on the street had about a 50-50 chance of being returned.</p><p>So, he stops saying hello. He stops going out at all. Being in the public makes things go from bad to worse, so Sammy's life turns into a two-stop shop: home, and the Station, then back home. Rose's diner was a sanctuary, under the right company, company that forced Sammy to think about anything other than his current situation. </p><p>Mysteriously, unless there are others present, Troy isn't usually in attendance. Not for lack of trying on his part, of course. But Sammy has managed to slip out of his conversational grasp ever since he was outed. </p><p>It's better for everyone that way. Troy is finally happy with Loretta. Sammy was viewed as a threat even <em>before</em> he'd been outed, there's no way she would become <em>more</em> understanding with the confirmation of his identity-- and Ben and Ron could enjoy their breakfast without the risk of someone snidely sneering something about Sammy, or otherwise questioning their audacity to have breakfast with him. He would rather not deal with that unpleasantness at all, so while his contract still has time on it, he opts to kill as much of it as possible by sitting in his apartment, alone, pretending the rest of the town doesn't exist.</p><p>He leaves messages unchecked, requests unfulfilled,  and questions unanswered, most of which come from Ben. But there was a change in the town, and it's not a change even Sammy could ignore. The News stations were abuzz with it, even the other radio shows had ads played for it (Although Chet Sebastian's Jazz corner had mysteriously gone without a major commercial break the last month, as though he was playing through the sponsor of the night) no one could go anywhere in town without hearing about it.</p><p>There was a Town Hall meeting. And the topic was Sammy.</p><p>Troy had thought he felt anger <em>before</em>, but when he first heard about the meeting, he could have breathed fire. </p><p>He did his best to run it into the ground before it even saw the light of day, with no luck. He wasn't a deputy anymore, not currently. He didn't have any pull with the law in this town anymore, and the people involved in the Sammy-haters club certainly let him know it. He begged practically on bent knee for Gunderson to let him back on the force, but Gunderson insisted Troy's own hearing for whether there was enough grounds to dismiss him from the force permanently had been delayed <em>yet again</em>, for the sixth time. There was a part of Troy that took comfort in that, knowing Gunderson kept pushing off the hearing because he <em>knew</em> there wasn't substantial enough evidence to actually fire Troy so he just kept prolonging it in order to keep him off the force as long as possible. But right now, it gave him no comfort whatsoever. </p><p>He and Ben, along with Tim and Mary, Ron and Archie, Herschel and Chet and a whole mess of other people all band together to shut down the meeting, to no avail. Any time they got too close, the date and time would be switched around, giving them just long enough to nail another stake into Sammy's coffin while the people on his side scrambled to catch their footing and step up in his defense. </p><p>"Sammy, I don't know if it's a good idea for you to go down there tonight," Ben says, shifting his weight from foot to foot in the parking lot of the station, as it's steadily approaching 2AM. "I think you should stay in the station where it's safe, and I can go down and cover this stupid hearing. If you go down there-- I don't know. I don't want to risk them turning on you, you know. Physically."</p><p>"You don't want to risk them <em>turning on me?"</em> Sammy repeats with a small laugh and no small amount of incredulity as he tugs his cardigan higher up on his shoulders, hands slinging low into the pockets, "Please, Ben. Most of them are PTA moms and disappointing dads. If anything, one might write a <em>strongly worded letter</em> to the local paper about me. <em>Another</em> strongly worded letter," Sammy amends, lip twitching in a sneer as he jingles the keys in his palm. </p><p>Shaking his head, Sammy tries-- not for the first time-- to step around Ben to his car. Moves which, not for the first time, Ben counters expertly,  leading Sammy to open his arms, looking annoyed; "It's not up for debate, Ben, I'm going. They've been talking about me behind my back for weeks now, it'll be nice for them to say something to my face for once. "</p><p>"They won't even let you in the building, you know that," Ben says, still attempting to shepherd Sammy back indoors. "Just-- stay here, man. Chet's here, he'll keep you company in case things get... you know, ugly. I just wouldn't put it past someone to smash a glass bottle on your head or something. This town can get <em>riled</em>, man. I'm just-- I'm <em>scared</em>. I'm scared for you, I'm scared for us, I'm scared in general. We already have limited time together, can part of that please not be spent in a hospital bed?"</p><p>"Got it, don't take a glass bottle to the head, and I won't see you in the hospital," Sammy says, finally getting around Ben to plant a foot in front of his car door, "I'm serious. I have no intention of getting brained today, but I'm also not going to sit here and let a bunch of homophobic bitches talk about what I'm doing living in this town."</p><p>"It's a lot more than just the homophobia, dude," Ben says, finally just putting his hands directly on Sammy's chest to try and stop him, putting himself physically between Sammy and his car. "They think you're some kind of anarchist, here to tear the town apart. You showing up and stating your case is only going to <em>hurt</em> your chances. They <em>want</em> you to show up and make a scene so they can use it against  you!"</p><p>"You don't think I know that?" Sammy asks, pulling away. Looking at Ben, his expression softens, going from frustrated to tired, almost in the same breath, "I can't just sit in my apartment while my future is voted on by a bunch of assholes who don't know the first thing about me. If they vote to kick me out, and it somehow works, I want them to have to look at me when they do."</p><p>Ben just looks at Sammy for a long moment, his heart breaking, and then reaches up to cup his face in both hands before winding his arms around his neck, standing up on his tip toes for a tight hug. </p><p>"Maybe they'll be cowards," he says, finally conceding, though it terrifies him to do so, pressing his face into Sammy's shoulder. "Maybe they'll be too afraid to kick you out to your face, right?"</p><p>Ben can hear the heavy huff of breath Sammy breathes into his hair as arms wrap around his waist, indulging in the hug. It doesn't last long. Before long Sammy is pulling away, gently setting Ben onto his feet and shaking his head. He would blame it on the streetlight above them, but his eyes are bright, his smile halfhearted, "I'll see ya there, buddy," He says, clapping Ben twice on the shoulder before turning and finally tucking into his car, hyperaware of Ben's eyes watching him from outside his car, as if he couldn't decide if he should just reach in and grab him. </p><p>Sammy leaves Ben in the parking lot, driving on instinct to the closed High School auditorium. While realistically Sammy wouldn't expect many people to show up at the high school for an arbitrary, unfounded Town Hall at 2 in the morning, when he reaches a block away he can see the parking lot absolutely stuffed with cars. People stream into the building, more and more as the time gets closer to two. </p><p>By this point, he's grown familiar with the tightening of his breath that came with nerves. Surely not all of these people were against him. He was plenty friendly with almost everyone in town, except for the idiots using 'slipping morality' as cover for their distaste of dissenting opinions. It was hard to believe the amount of people heading into the highschool at this time.</p><p>He parks down the block and enjoys his walk to the gym, where he slips in a side entrance, bypassing the front line, and the remaining stragglers trying to make it into the building before they closed the doors, the room full to the gills.</p><p>Nobody even seems to notice he's there, for a while. The fact that they're putting this meeting on at the same time he's supposed to be on the air tells him that they were hoping to slip this by right under his nose-- the bunch of cowards. The "CFM" take the center stage-- what the core group of Sammy Protestors have called themselves to sound more legitimate-- "Citizens For Morality" --and start right in on their speechifying.</p><p>There's thirteen of them on stage by Sammy's count, some of whom he absolutely recognizes. Cynthia Higgenbaum, Celestia Thompson, Riley Bevins (no doubt there on behalf of Grisham) to name a few-- and there at the very end of the line, is none other than<em> Loretta Krieghauser. </em></p><p>Sammy's blood boils. He knows Troy couldn't know she's there. He wouldn't have let her attend if he knew, considering how mad he got just at the tape. She must be sneaking around behind his back to be here tonight, probably lied to his face about where she was going to throw him off the trail. How much of this did she participate in? How much of it did she <em>organize?</em> </p><p>He takes up in the back, tucked away by the banners proudly displaying the team's championship victories, keeping an on eye on the crowd. He'd be impressed with the turn out if it wasn't absolutely heartbreaking, a silent confirmation of everything Sammy had already been worried about; The entire town was here. The entire town had an opinion. This was not what he wanted. </p><p>It's clear they'd been speaking for a while, probably even longer than the five minutes Sammy had missed. He doesn't look around the room, doesn't try to scope out Ben, or Chet, or any one of his friends. He doesn't want to see them-- and they can't see him. Fortunately, Sammy was a patient man. He could wait and see how the night was going to go to make judgement.After all, maybe they'd be cowards, right? </p><p>One by one the CFM make their case for why Sammy Stevens ought to be run out of town. Citing his violent demeanor when assaulting the Mayor (neverminding that Grisham threw the first punch) and his tendency for peddling out sensationalized media (despite the fact that the Sammy and Ben show are the only ones who tell the news stories exactly as they are, typically as they're happening) and his habit of "pandering to the alt left" which Sammy can only assume is their censored, watered-down way of saying they don't like that he's gay. </p><p>It makes his stomach churn listening to it. Half the time what they're said is booed by the people in the audience who are there in support of him, and half of the time they're cheered on for what they're saying. It doesn't pass his notice that the people sitting directly beside him never seem to realize who he is, or recognize him even for an instant, and it occurs to him how many people must be here purely pulled along by the echo chamber as a sort of loyalty-- people who don't know what he looks like, who he even is. Probably who have never listened to a single episode of his show. </p><p>It would be enough if they were just badmouthing him. He's more than used to people hating him. But they're talking about Ben, too, and that's just unforgivable. He works his ass off for the show, he's one of the kindest and most hardworking men Sammy has ever known, and they're pissing all over everything he's ever accomplished, from his work on the show to his fight to bring home Emily Potter. He finds it's almost more comforting to just be mad at them for what they're saying about Ben, because then he at least doesn't have to think about if any percentage of what they're saying about <em>him</em> is true. </p><p>Sammy chews on his own jaw instead of his tongue, although the urge to physically bite it is something fierce. Many of them are speaking massive pieces of untruth, encouraged by their friends and neighbors on either side of them, not quite sure what they would do for the neighbors who didn't agree with them. It takes every ounce in his body not to scan the crowd, especially when the chorus of angry protestors swells. It'd be nice to look for friendly faces in the crowd.</p><p>He would just have to trust they were there, even if his detractors seemed to be the vocal majority. In fact, the longer the CFM went on, the more Sammy became aware of what they actually wanted, hidden amongst the drivel. It wasn't just about the show, or just about Sammy being gay-- this wasn't about his ability to entertain, or other's getting the wrong impression of his work. The CFM simply would not be happy until Sammy was completely removed from the world, and summarily forgotten.</p><p>He settles his gaze on Loretta, curious by her reaction. She didn't look worried or nervous, which means she had to have it on fairly good authority that he wouldn't be interrupting the night. That scared him more than anything else-- where was Troy? How was he missing this? What had she done to make him miss this?</p><p>Sammy would only find out much later that what she'd done was purposefully break the showerhead in the upstairs bathroom to try and trap Troy there for hours in an effort to fix it while it sprayed water every which way. What she didn't anticipate was that Ben would just text him, and he'd turn off the water to the whole house in order to book it across town as quickly as he could physically get himself there-- driving a whole <em>five miles</em> above the speed limit in the process. </p><p>The doors bang open with such force that multiple people in the audience gasp and shout in alarm. They give off such a mighty BANG that even from his position unable to see the doors nestled betweeen the rows of bleachers that bookend it, Sammy would be willing to bet whoever just entered the room <em>dropkicked</em> the fucking door open-- and honestly, he wouldn't be too far off. </p><p>Sammy has always been aware that Troy is a man of imposing height. The only person in town taller than Troy is Ron Begley himself, and even then it's only by two inches. Six foot six is more than enough height for any one person, and when Troy wields his body like a weapon, six and half feet of fury is a sight to behold. He storms down the center aisle with force, and anybody in the way practically divebombs into the audience to get out from underfoot before he bowls them over like so many bowling pins. </p><p>And there it is. That instant spark of nervousness that shifts in Loretta's expression. A bucket of ice water dumped right on her smug face that Sammy takes an uncomfortable amount of pleasure in, as Troy plants himself directly in front of center stage. </p><p>"I'm here to shut this down!" Troy barks, his voice carrying easily across the entire auditorium, projecting from wall to wall as if he's talking into a microphone-- he isn't. "If ya'll ain't cleared outta here in half an hour so help me--"</p><p>"Don't move!" the woman behind the mic says-- someone Sammy doesn't even <em>know</em>, but apparently her name is Magdalene Hutcherson. "We as the people of America have the inalienable right to assembly."</p><p>"Yeah, I <em>bet</em> that's how ya'll're justifyin' this whole circus of malevolence!" Troy barks right back. "You're right, you <em>do</em> have the right to assembly. What you <em>don't</em> have the right to do is get together in the dead of night all secret-like to try and mob rush an innocent man outta town! I meant what I said, pack it up in half an hour or I'll rain hell on your whole goddang parade!"</p><p>"Weird, Troy, because last <em>we</em> checked, you don't have any right to even be <em>yelling</em> at us right now," That's Cynthia, her voice tinny and elitist as always as she chitters on stage. Her perch on the supplied chair is delicate, her stance on stage is delicate-- In fact, if she weren't bolstered by the entire town's eyes on her, she probably would have some cause for concern, judging by the way Troy was looking at her. It looked like he wanted to eat her alive.</p><p>Then again, the look that had crossed Troy's face since he had barged into the room was nothing shy of incredible. Sammy had watched the anger grow as he recognized more and more people, and even now, Sammy could relate to the half-lost look in his eye-- like he wasn't entirely sure they'd gotten to this point. A fair assessment, considering neither did Sammy</p><p>"I have as much right to yell in your face as you have a right to smacktalk a man who ain't never done a thing wrong by the law!" Troy shoots right back, pointing a scathing finger in Cynthia's direction. Sammy can't tell if he hasn't noticed Loretta yet, or if he's just choosing not to acknowledge her in front of everyone, but she looks like she's trying to turn herself inside out she's fighting so hard to not be seen. "But puttin' together a whole godforsaken meeting gladhanding the public like you gotta leg to stand on when it comes to peer pressurin' a workin', law-abidin', tax-payin' adult-ass man outta town  like a bunch of petty teenagers-- that I cannot and <em>will not</em> abide by! So I won't say it again, pack it up and move it out or you don't wanna <em>know</em> what I'm liable to do!"</p><p>There's a soft hush then, as if the CFM can't decide whether he's bluffing or not, but judging by the fire in his eyes, he certainly doesn't seem like he is. </p><p>"We're just here airing some concerns as citizens of our fair town--" Magdalene starts, but Troy cuts her right off at the pass. </p><p>"No, what ya'll are <em>doin</em>' is sneakin' a bunch of folks out in the middle of the godforsaken night to try and hide from the people who support Sammy Stevens cause ya'll <em>know</em> you're outnumbered!" he roars. "What ya'll are <em>DOIN'</em> is tryin' to bully a man outta town who ain't never done a thing wrong by a single one of you! If there's a single goddamn person in this room who can tell me something Sammy Stevens has done to hurt you personally then I'll walk right back outta this room the way I came! I'll bet the whole farm right here and now that the most he's done to ruffle any of ya'll's feathers is loudly agree with things you <em>don't</em> agree with-- and if you'll pardon my french that just ain't gonna <em>fuckin' cut it</em> <em>Magdalene</em>."</p><p>Sammy has to avoid cheering along with the rest of his supporters in the audience, remembering only at the last minute that he wasn't technically wanted here at all, and that the group had actually gone to some great lengths to ensure that he <em>wasn't</em> there. They probably would hate to have him turn up and start applauding the one man who seemed to be loudly arguing this point. His eye go to Loretta, to the frenzied indignant look as she seems to question whether it'd be worth it to actually try to run off of the edge of the stage. She certainly looks off of her metal fold-out chair at the ground below like it was an option. Honestly, Sammy would love that. Anything to make her squirm, just a little. His fate felt so sealed, at this point he'd accept any reprieve. </p><p>Even better, Troy's challenge had them all stumped. They genuinely didn't dislike Troy, that much was true at least, but considering Sammy wasn't a secret mastermind trying to get an entire town to hate him, the max he'd done was say his opinion, live on air-- as he was hired to do.</p><p>It's with that thready line of hope that Sammy watches, still not saying anything. Maybe if they heard it from someone like Troy, someone affiliated but not affected by Sammy, they'd have a better chance of listening. Troy was a stalwart herald of all that was Good, after all. He called out everyone in his path. Surely his clout had to count for something, and if anyone could dismantle this jury of Sammy's peers, it'd be him.</p><p>Magdalene's confidence seems to be flagging somewhat, but she isn't willing to give up the fight so easily. Gripping the mic stand in both hands she says, "And what, praytell, is your plan, Mr. Krieghauser? It's no secret you're off the force, and there's bad blood between you and the Sheriff. So what exactly do you think you could do? You can't operate inside the law-- and if you try to operate <em>outside</em> the law, our fine Sheriff will come put you down."</p><p>Prior to the low chuckle that comes out of Troy in that moment, Sammy never would have been able to describe a single thing Troy could say or do as menacing. </p><p>"Boy howdy, Missus Hutcherson, I sure am glad you asked, because I am <em>happy</em> to elaborate," Troy says, his voice still projecting in the auditorium despite the fact that his tone has dropped from the furious braying of a few moments ago into something downright cordial. "Ya'll know, hand to god, that I ain't the sorta man who likes to go around passin' out tickets every which way. In fact, it's one of the biggest sources of bad blood between myself and Sheriff Gunderson to date-- he don't like how much I let my friends and neighbors get away with on the daily. Li'l things I could be writin' fines for, handin' out tickets like candy, even bringin' folks in proper-like. I would often fail to meet quotas because of how much I let folks slip right on by with. But just cause I forgive don't mean I forget."</p><p>"Are you <em>threatening</em> us?" Magdalene sounds almost excited by the prospect, like she has something to use against him. </p><p>"<em>Threat</em> is an interestin' word," Troy says. "What ya'll might consider a threat, I'd consider justice. Like it or not, I know all the particulars of what ya'll get up to when it comes to slippin' money out of registers, swipin' li'l things off of one another's properties, pocketin' knick knacks and produce and the like at the Bent 'N Dent. I let every last one of you get away with <em>somethin</em>', over the years, and mark my words-- while I might not be a vengeful sorta man, if ya'll dont shut down this li'l hate-party of yours, I might be able to dig deep and find myself a vengeful bone somewhere deep down in this body of mine."</p><p>Sammy's eyes widen at the pure <em>daring</em> in Troy's voice. It makes his belly bottom out like he's on a roller coaster, and he doesn't even bother to chastise his poor timing. Tucked away into the wall, Sammy does his best to school his expression flat. The last thing he'd need is Loretta to look over and see him flushed in the face and panting because her husband was defending <em>him</em>.</p><p>Speaking of Loretta, her look of near-fear was plain on her face, the flaring of her nostrils visible all the way from the back as she took deep breaths, clearly trying to calm down in an unobtrusive way. It was hard to tell her expression from here, and Sammy busies himself trying to figure it out-- Was it fear? Was it fury? He wouldn't put anything past her, and he was happy for the distraction.</p><p>"And how do you plan on making good on this threat if you aren't on the force anymore?" Magdalene continues, looking for any loophole she could clutch to. </p><p>"Gunderson and I might not get along, but he's <em>far</em> from the only person on the force," Troy says, staring her down like he wants to reach up and slap the mic right out of her hands. "Lynch, Gladd and Bird are all personal friends of mine. So unless every one of ya'll in this room thinks you can call in a personal favor from Sheriff Gunderson to dismiss ya'll's cases, I'd suggest you shut this thing down. That's the <em>last</em> time I'll ask." </p><p>There's a long, heavy pause in the room as everyone seems to weigh whether he means it, but nobody wants to be the first person to stand up and break the tension. </p><p>Finally it's Riley Bevins who stands up from her seat with a sigh. "I think we've all said our piece," she says primly, as if it were planned for the night to end like this, like she's still trying to hold onto some higher ground. "Good night everyone."</p><p>Everyone starts to mill out, making a beeline for the doors, nobody in the room willing to be the one caught behind in Troy's wrath-- but despite the idle soft chatter that starts up and the sound of footsteps on creaking bleachers, Sammy hears Troy's voice loud and clear as soon as Loretta stands up. </p><p>"<em>Not</em> you," he says, pointing at  her from the ground. "You stay right there. You and I got a <em>long</em> talk ahead of us."</p><p>Loretta goes still, as do some of the people that are still clearly torn between whether they should stay or go. The bystanders watch-- as does Sammy-- looking between husband and wife. Even some others by the door were drawn to pause, Troy's voice carrying amongst the awkward, mumbling silence.</p><p>Just as people begin to shift and move out again, Loretta speaks, her voice cutting through the air, picked up by the holstered microphones at the front of the stage. She might not know they were broadcasting her voice, but realistically? She had to.</p><p>"Is this what you wanted, Stevens?" Loretta says, her voice sharp and furious. </p><p>Sammy, at the back of the room, goes absolutely shock-still, his head snapping from Troy to the stage. His eyes find Loretta, and the sheer look of hatred on her face sends a cold chill down his spine. At the sound of the name, those who hadn't paused absolutely did, heads craning to look for the man in question. Many followed Loretta's gaze, and before long, Sammy finds himself on the other end of an enraptured audience. </p><p>"I didn't <em>want</em> anything, Loretta, this is <em>your</em> meeting!" He shouts back, sounding perfectly unphased despite the way his heart was hammering in his throat. He's viscerally aware of Troy's eyes on him. He doesn't look anywhere but at the stage.</p><p>Loretta rolls her eyes as she scoffs, shaking her head, "Like hell you didn't. You couldn't show up and defend yourself, you had to call my husband to do it for you?" She turns to Troy then, looking almost hurt as she adds, "Are you happy?"</p><p>Troy takes in Sammy with an expression of absolute shock, his throat clenching up. Good god, he didn't want Sammy to see him like this. Mean and angry and ugly like this. His heart slams up into his mouth, but he swallows it back down, turning his attention back towards Loretta. </p><p>"Sammy didn't call me at all. I didn't even know he was here," he says, by some miracle keeping his voice even and calm. "I came here because what ya'll were doin' is <em>wrong</em>. I woulda come if ya'll were tryin' to run out Mr. Begley, or Mr. Baumgartner-- hell I even woulda come to the defense of Mayor Grisham if the town decided to try and run him clear out. Nobody deserves to be dogpiled like this, and that's on <em>you</em>, Loretta. <em>You</em> chose to participate in this, and <em>you</em> gotta live with that."</p><p>"Don't act like this is some unfounded thing, Troy," Loretta snaps, "You think this entire town, you think all of us are just up here because some late-night radio host said something we don't <em>like?</em> He's <em>hurting</em> this town. We see it, and clearly others do too, or we wouldn't have an audience tonight, now, would we?" She gestures to them, some of whom actually look at one another, as if confirming that they were the ones she was lumping in with them.</p><p>"You really wanna drag our dirty laundry out in front of god and all these people, Loretta?" Troy says, feeling a pit of anger sink into his belly that scares him. "<em>Stow it</em> till we get home."</p><p>"Me? <em>I'm</em> the one dragging our dirty laundry out, when you're the one who came storming in to yell at us to shut this entire meeting down, and to chastise <em>me?</em> Funny way to remember things, Troy," Her words are like ice, even Sammy feels them.</p><p>"I came here because I <em>love</em> the man ya'll are tryin' to run outta town!" Troy's voice raises again, that anger finally sparking against something in his belly and turning back into a roaring fire. "And I'm not the only one who loves him, neither! For a fact, your whole audience here tonight wasn't all folks who agree with you! I'm here to defend the rights of private citizens against people like the got damn <em>CFM</em>, and I didn't goddamn know you were <em>here, Loretta!</em> That's why I said we could talk <em>at home.</em>"</p><p>The gym goes quiet again, in a way only shock could achieve. Loretta's shoulders are very finely shaking as she looks down at her husband, a high flush on her cheeks as she swallows, her throat bobbing. Troy doesn't back down, fire radiating off of him in waves-- met by Loretta's ice, the silence that stretches between them feels impossible to bridge. </p><p>She breaks the stare first, and her heels click as she marches off of the stage, pushing and weaving her way around the crowd that seems too awkward to move. The distant gym door slamming breaks the tension, and everyone seems very quick to leave, before things get worse. Heads down, they give Troy and Sammy both wide berths, like water around boulders.</p><p>Sammy feels penned in. Troy's words echo through the gym despite the noise of the people leaving, and Sammy can feel the man at his back all too well, like an electrical current held just over his skin. His skin prickles where he feels Troy's eyes on him, and he squints through the crowd, waiting for any gap to make his escape.</p><p>Does his stomach twinge with regret when he sees that gap and takes it, unable to even look Troy in the eye to thank him? A little. Does that slow him even a second? No, and in three steps he's out the side door and gone, avoiding the crowd, avoiding the questions, and absolutely avoiding Troy. What even could he say to the man? He'd practically ruined his life.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Troy already has an idea of how this is going to go, as he puts his house in his rearview mirror. After a four-hour screaming match with Loretta (in which she did most of the screaming) he can already guess how Sammy is going to react when he shows up at his door at seven in the morning with a small cut on his cheek that he really doesn't have an excuse for that'll make Sammy feel better. </p><p>If Loretta knew he was driving away from the house in order to immediately go check on the subject they just fought over for four hours straight, she'd hit the ceiling. Troy feels just awful for taking a measure of pride, even pleasure in that. If there's one thing Troy has become more and more sure of the longer this dramatic feud goes on between Sammy and Loretta, it's that he just isn't a very good husband. </p><p>Parking in front of Sammy's building, he takes a moment to inspect himself in the mirror. His eyes are red and puffy from crying, his cheek is a bit swollen and bruised where the small cut is trying to granulate, and he looks absolutely exhausted. At least he can take solace in his wager that Sammy probably isn't looking much better, and he climbs the stairs to his apartment, and knocks on his door, praying that he isn't already asleep-- because at this point, he certainly can't go home. </p><p>The lights are off in Sammy's apartment, Troy can see that much from under the door. The complex is quiet at this time of day, most of the inhabitants sleeping in after the raucous night many had tried to put behind them. However, similarly still is Sammy's apartment, and he realizes that he might have to make peace with sleeping in his car for a few hours.</p><p>What feels like ten minutes is closer to one, and as Troy agonizes about a plan B, Sammy opens the door. He looks predictably like a mess-- his hair is half-down, the bun obviously old and sagging, heavy pieces of hair hanging down to his shoulders. He hadn't bothered to put on actual pants, standing there only in his boxers and heavy sleeping cardigan, but he also didn't appear to be blinking sleep out of his eyes. </p><p>"Just made coffee, thought you might need some," He says, stepping away from the door to hold it open, gesturing to welcome Troy in, "You wouldn't believe that happened last night," Sammy mutters with a sad, strained smile, hanging off of the door and shutting it behind him.</p><p>"Try me," Troy says just as wearily, shrugging off his heavy leather jacket and hanging it on the coat hook beside Sammy's door. </p><p>Sammy gives him a look, leading Troy to the kitchen that was warm with the smell of freshly ground and percolated coffee, "...Nah," He finally says, gathering mugs for them, then pouring coffee, "It's a long story. Mostly bullshit. I'm sure you can relate." With a look, he pushes the mug to Troy, offering a half-smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.</p><p>"I can relate," Troy says, sitting heavily at Sammy's kitchen table with the coffe warming his hands. He sighs  heavily, his shoulders sagging as he stares down into the mug with sad eyes. "At least they'll get off your backs. For a while, anyhow... I dunno how to fight this for long though, buddy. I ain't never had enemies before. I'm scared of losin' the will to fight 'em all. I barely have the will to keep a fight goin' with Loretta even when I know in my heart of hearts she's in the wrong."</p><p>Guilt twists Sammy's heart, making him feel sick through his chest as he looks at his own coffee, "This isn't your fight to fight, I know that. If you ever want to stop, I want you to," He holds Troy's eye for a second to make sure the point lands, before he clears his throat, "So how.... did it go? With Loretta?"</p><p>"About as well as you'd expect," Troy says, holding Sammy's eye. If Sammy isn't going to mention the cut, then neither is he. "She screamed herself hoarse for four hours, threw some things, then broke down cryin' like she usually does once she runs outta points to make. Usually I'd break down by then too cause I can't stand to see her cry and whatever we were arguin' about wouldn't matter no more, and I'd just start comfortin' her and tellin' her everything's okay, but... it went different this time. I didn't back down, and all of a sudden she just <em>stopped</em> cryin' and told me to get out. So I got. And now I'm here."</p><p>"Threw things," Sammy repeats, sounding grave. His eyes dart up again, and this time they do linger just south of Troy's eyeline. He still doesn't say anything. The guilt in his gut churns another round. </p><p>Clearing his throat, Sammy nods as he looks down at his coffee, taking a drink and marveling when he actually tastes nothing at all. As if he needed a reminder of just how bad things were, he'd moved right on to not tasting a damn thing. What was he supposed to say? How was he supposed to help? He couldn't keep pulling Troy apart, not now when he'd been doing so much good, but he couldn't condone her actions-- especially not when they'd been so vehemently against him.</p><p>"Well, you know you're welcome here. I'll let you take my bed, even. I like sleeping on the couch," He offers. It's not what he wants to say, nothing even close, but he could approach that topic. How could he?</p><p>"Liar," Troy says, looking up at Sammy with tired, sad eyes. "Nobody <em>likes</em> sleeping on the couch. I... I appreciate it, though. I was pretty well convinced you wouldn't even wanna be around me no more after last night."</p><p>That makes him look at Troy, confusion etched in his face, "Why would you think that?"</p><p>"I got... real ugly last night," Troy says, unable to meet Sammy's eyes, staring shame-facedly down into his coffee. "Mean in a real bad way. I'm not proud of the way I talked to those folks last night, I just-- I just saw red. I was so scared they were gonna win and I was gonna lose you, and I was just... goddang possessed with doin' anything it woulda taken to keep you in King Falls. That kinda fury... well, I ain't never felt it before. I scared my own self. Wouldn't have blamed you if it scared you, too."</p><p>Sammy feels his chest grow warm at the words, but not for the same reason Troy might be worried it would be, "I gotta be honest, I'm probably the last person who has an issue with the way you spoke to them last night," He taps his finger against the counter, rubbing at a spot with his thumb. Finally, he manages to steel himself and look up, and goes so far as to add a casual shrug, as if he had any casuality left to spare; "You're a good man, Troy, everyone in that room knows it, even if they don't want to admit it. When a good man yells, you pay attention."</p><p>"A good man shouldn't yell at all," Troy says, sagging back in the chair, propping his head in his hand. "I know I've mentioned my pappy a couple times here and there, but I ain't never gone into much detail. He was the sorta man who yelled about every little thing. And I mean every little thing. If I left the house with my shoes untied, missed a spot on a single dish when I did 'em after dinner, didn't get my homework done fast enough... he'd be right there just a hollerin' away with a smack to the side of my head, till I got to be tall enough that he started to realize he'd be in trouble if I started hittin' back. Never did... sorta always wanted to."</p><p>He sighs, and sits up straight, finally taking a sip of his coffee before looking up towards the ceiling. "I've done everything I can to make sure I'm <em>nothin</em>' like him, and I've been proud of myself for it. But last night-- that was the first time I ever felt any kinda way <em>like</em> him. Yellin' at my own wife in front of everyone... goin' home to yell at her some more... I can't tell if that makes me a bad husband, or just a bad man."</p><p>"You said it yourself, you didn't know she was there. Knowing what I know about you, you go out of your way to keep conflict as buttoned up as possible, at her request, too. You can't blame yourself for trusting your wife to be a better person for once," Regret washes over Sammy almost immediately, the words making his mouth button shut and a disappointed frown set over his face. </p><p>There's a silence, then a breath before he looks up, "I'm sorry. That wasn't fair. I'm... a little bitter, still, I think, but I won't..." Sammy holds up his hand, as if he was physically dropping the topic, "Anyway. Don't put so much on yourself for being human. We all make mistakes. We all have bad nights. The fact you've had <em>one</em> bad night in the almost-three years I've known you is a miracle."</p><p>"One bad night that you know of, anyhow," Troy sighs. "One bad and very public night. I don't know how she and I are gonna get past this. I still don't understand what she thought she was gonna get out of this. I guess she just thought she'd get away with it. That she'd somehow band together with all these folks to run you outta town right from under my nose, and then you'd be gone and I'd just... get over it. I don't know how she thought I'd get over it."</p><p>"Doubt she thought that far ahead. Did you not know about the meeting at all? How did you get there last night?" Sammy pulls out a stool at the small kitchen island where he was standing, gesturing for Troy to do the same.  "How did you manage to avoid it this long?"</p><p>"I wasn't avoidin' nothin'," Troy says, moving to take the seat beside Sammy instead. "I was right there alongside Ben, fightin' back the CFM. They kept changin' the dang dates and times around to shake us off, but we were there-- and it wasn't just the two of us. We had a whole team prowlin' around, Archie was particularly helpful, what with his wide net of gossippers. But I guess eventually they caught on and got sneakier, and we just thought they gave up. Then the shower in mine and Loretta's ensuite <em>mysteriously</em> broke last night and I was all set to fix it. I woulda missed the whole dang meeting if I hadn't've taken a break when I did and gone downstairs to see all the texts and calls I missed from Ben."</p><p>There's that warmth again, pesky and persistent, and Sammy feels that same nasty sense of guilt sour his gut. Of all times to confront it, right now felt disrespectful. It felt rude. The burning through his chest doesn't go away, though the idea of a coalition of supporters was a nice thought. He'd <em>heard</em> the booing. Those were nice, too. "Needless to say, I think it's probably a good thing they had you to clean house. You certainly cleared the room faster than anyone else," There's a pause, before he adds, "I'm glad you were there. Even if you aren't."</p><p>"I'm glad I was too, in a way," Troy says, glancing only briefly at Sammy. "I wish I'd taken more time to compose myself in the parkin' lot before I went bustin' in all guns blazin', but... it is what it is. I was so afraid that any second I wasted would be the one second they used to finally come to a consensus on runnin' you outta town. I meant what I said before, I wouldn't wanna live in this town without you in it. I'd miss you somethin' awful."</p><p>Sammy's heart breaks in agony, torn between guilt and warmth. The warmer his chest floods, the guiltier he feels, sick twisting with affection and leaving him ultimately speechless. Does he take the words for what they are? Can he? Or does it count as abuse? Manipulation? The last thing he wanted was to take anything unwillingly given from Troy, but he also couldn't pretend like this for much longer. </p><p>"Are you..." he starts, only for his voice to come out flat. Awkwardly, Sammy tries again, "Are you okay? Seriously."</p><p>"Seriously?" Troy blows out a long breath, and catches Sammy's eye-- holding it, this time. "Not really. I lost my job, my dignity, I fear I'm losin' my wife and I almost lost my best friend. There's only so much a man can lose, before he starts feelin' all kinds of hopeless. They say when you hit rock bottom there ain't no way but up no more, but every time I think I've found the bottom I just find a shovel and keep diggin'. My chest hurts somethin' fierce and it hasn't let up in a long time. For one stupid second I thought Loretta and I were okay again, but turns out she was just actin' all sweet to cover up <em>this</em> shitfire, which just makes me feel... used, and dumb. I just... I just wanna feel okay again. It's been too damn long."</p><p>Silence stretches between Troy and Sammy as Sammy looks away. It hits too close to home-- the words, the feeling. Something had to give. His mind screamed at him, but against his better judgement, he looks down at his own hand, spread on the table. Shaking himself out of his reverie, he brushes his palm against the tabletop, as if he was sweeping crumbs together, "You can tell me to go fuck myself if I'm out of line, here, but-- are you even happy with her anymore? I know it's-- I know how serious you take it, so I'm not saying anything, but... You don't even seem happy, Troy."</p><p>Troy swallows hard, looking down at the counter beside Sammy. He pushes his mug away, all appetite lost, and then hangs his head in his hands. "You know, I've been askin' <em>myself</em> that same question a lot lately. Up until last night, I woulda said yes without question-- but comin' to terms with the fact that she'd been butterin' me up to try and trick me into bein' blind to her involvement in the CFM? Shit, I was blind to it-- she did trick me-- and what does that say about what sorta man she thinks I am? She must think I'm the most gullible fool-- and I guess I am on account of I fell for it, hook line and sinker." </p><p>His voice chokes up then, emotion grabbing him by the throat. "I've tried... so hard to make her happy over the years. I've done damn near everything I can think of. The more unhappy she'd seem, the more I'd wanna fight to please her. I dunno if I saw it as a challenge, or if I just felt guilty that my best efforts weren't enough-- like I was doin' something wrong? But whatever it was, whenever she'd get all up in a mood, it'd just give me energy to wanna solve it and make her feel right again. But lately... I just feel like all the energy's gone clean outta me. I don't know how to forgive her for the things she's done to you... and I don't know how to be okay with the fact that I'm the kinda husband who's bein' faced with a decision between his best friend and his wife... and I'm gettin' real damn close to not pickin' my wife."</p><p>It takes a lot to make Sammy feel small, but sitting on his kitchen counter? He felt it. The sorrow washing off of Troy hit him like a tidal wave, and beside him he's so, so small. Powerless to stop it and unable to help it. He can't fix an entire marriage's foundation. He tried to be the good guy, he tried to make a truce, out of respect and love for Troy. The same hadn't been given in return, so where did that leave him? Was he allowed to be angry? Was he allowed to indulge, even in this conversation? Or was even this ill-advised?</p><p>"It's okay to be tired," Sammy's voice is gentle, and despite his better judgement, his hand reaches out to smooth across Troy's back. His palm fits against Troy's rounded, tight shoulders, and he rubs him comfortingly-- for a second he even thinks he can feel the muscles relaxing and dipping, although they tighten up a moment later. Sammy can't blame him. "It's okay if you guys outgrew each other, too, you know? It sometimes happens with people. And usually, because they can't pinpoint why they're unhappy, they just... nitpick, and find reasons to justify their anger. I'm not saying it's right," He adds, very quickly, "But you aren't alone out here. I'm still here." For now, but he doesn't add that. He doesn't need to.</p><p>"I wanted to be a good husband for her," Troy says, peeling his face out of his hands. His eyes are wet, his palms are wet. "I was head over heels for her, and when I heard about what her ex-husband did... when I heard about that sleazeball <em>Norman</em>, I wanted to be the one to get it all right. I wanted to be the one to make her feel like a good woman, a good wife, like she really meant something to someone. I wanted to be that for her more than anything in the world, and I was so determined to do whatever it took to be that man. To be that husband."</p><p><em>Norman?</em> Sammy takes a second he's sure seems appropriate. He'd had a hard enough time reeling over the name Derek, but the name Norman? A little bolt of nerves strike into his chest, igniting a concern in him-- should he be worried? When Troy had spoken before about Loretta's situation, he'd mentioned someone named Derek. Was Norman someone new? Why change the name?</p><p>Their conversation took precedent, though. He could assuage his nerves about a stupid name later, his heart was busy breaking for Troy, "You <em>were</em> a good husband, nobody can say you weren't. You did everything you could to make her feel as loved as you felt for her." Sammy's hand continues to work, smoothing slow strokes across his shoulders, his palm flat against the hunch, "It's not your fault she doesn't see that. You deserve to be with someone who sees all the good you do, instead of the bad you might."</p><p>"How could it not be my fault?" Troy asks desperately. "If she ain't happy, that must mean I'm doin' something wrong. If I was the perfect husband for her, she wouldn't be unhappy. <em>Derek</em> didn't make her unhappy. Then again-- I guess Derek was before everything happened with Norman... shit, it's all just a mess. Used to be it made me happy, tryin' to be a better husband for her. Anything she asked for I gave to her, but she just keeps askin' for more and more, and it don't seem to satisfy her like it used to. I'm left feelin' like I'm bangin' my head against a wall for nothin'. I just don't know what to do anymore. I'm so tired of feelin' unloved every time she looks at me."</p><p>Well, consider Sammy lost. Norman and Derek existed simultaneously, that was new. Sammy didn't even know a damn thing about a 'Norman'. He couldn't ask. Not now, surely. </p><p>"Listen, whatever she's been through in the past has nothing to do with you," Sammy says, the hand on his shoulder turning a bit firmer now, trying to get Troy to look up at him, "You did right by her. You were patient, and understanding, and kind-- I guarantee more than anyone else she had ever been with. Norman, Derek, whoever. You went out of her way to comfort her after those people were bad to her, and instead of trying to handle her shit, she turned it back on you. Anyone would get tired of being held to an asshole's standard, Troy. <em>Anyone</em>. Especially because you didn't do anything wrong in the first place."</p><p>Troy feels that guilty plunge in his chest like he wants to say something, but he can't quite get the words out. His jaw flexes as he looks at Sammy, his expression tired, his eyes sad. Just having a hand on his back that is genuinely affectionate is enough to make him want to cry-- just having a warm, breathing body near him who's actually on his side for once could be enough to make him make some bad choices-- like that night in the library. </p><p>Sammy Stevens has a way of making him feel happy to be a bad husband, a bad man. Happy to make bad choices. He just thanks the lord that he doesn't have the energy to act on any of those bad choices right now, or he and Loretta might be in an even worse bind than before. </p><p>"I never did nothin' to her," Troy says, his voice small and desperate. "I never went out of my way to hurt her... I never hid a thing from her... and she treats me like a criminal anyway."</p><p>Sammy's heart breaks at that expression, and he leans forward in his chair, until his tailbone is just barely perched on the lip of the stool. Turning Troy to face him, he raises both hands to his shoulders, thumbs rubbing gentle circles into his collar, "Listen to me: You are a good man," Sammy doesn't dare avoid eye contact, not right now, not when he seems desperate for any sort of contact at all. He's not that cruel. </p><p>"You're a good man, and a <em>damn</em> good husband and partner. One of the best I've ever met. Loretta is lucky you were there to catch her at such a sensitive time in her life, and if she can't see that, she's--" Temper. Sammy takes a breath, hands squeezing Troy's shoulders, as if for emotional support, or maybe just tempered reassurance. </p><p>For a long, bitter moment, Sammy says nothing, looking torn. There's so much he wants to say, but can't. He wants to sneer that she doesn't know how good she has it, how lucky she is. He wants to tell her how petty and small she'd have to be to ruin what she had with Troy. He wants to remind him that he's here, and he wasn't going anywhere. Even if that might not be true in the long run.</p><p>None of it was right, not for this. So instead, Sammy smiles, a tight, humorless thing, "You're wasted on her, Troy."</p><p>"That ain't fair," Troy whispers, holding Sammy's eye. He doesn't say it like a man staunchly defending his wife-- he says it like it's rehearsed. Like he just has to put in that token resistance-- like a man who's begging Sammy to keep going.</p><p>"You're right, it's not," Sammy agrees, "Not fair to <em>you</em>. You can't make up for a thing you never did, Troy. It's an impossible goal. She can't keep making up things you haven't done and getting mad because she has an imagination. The amount of empathy you show just <em>dealing</em> with that on a regular basis is beyond any normal expectation. I don't know how you do it."</p><p>"Sometimes I feel... mean enough like I don't wanna do it at all," Troy admits in a pained, tired whisper. "Especially lately. Sometimes I feel like if she's gonna be mad at me for bein' unfaithful to her when I ain't, what's the point in even tryin' to be when there could be other folks who actually make me feel happy? And then I think about what kinda man that makes me just for thinkin' thoughts like that."</p><p>Sammy's heart twists. He's not naive enough to think that comment isn't about him. It has to be, after the meeting. The library. </p><p>"You're gonna have to pick yourself at some point. It doesn't make you a lesser man, or mean, or <em>worse</em> than anyone, it's doing what's best for yourself," He looks away, only for a minute, as if he was reconsidering-- and then he goes on, "And if you can be happy with someone else-- I mean, call me biased but I think you've more than earned that."</p><p>"God help me, I wanna me happy again," Troy sags into those hands on his shoulders, soaking up as much affection from that simple touch as he can possibly withstand. "I've lost so much, I just wanna be happy again."</p><p>The hands on Troy's shoulders begin to rub across the length of his shoulders, soothingly, until they make their way up to cradle his face, large hands on his neck, thumbs at his cheeks, "Just say the word. I'm here."</p><p>Troy feels his stomach tighten in a way that both makes him feel guilty and excited, each one warring equally in his guts. His breathing picks up a little bit, his nostrils flaring. If he were the sort of good man Sammy insisted he was, he would pull away now. If he were the sort of good man Sammy insisted he was, he would have pulled away in the library. </p><p>There's nothing to stop them, here. He left his cell phone in the car, he doesn't have a police radio anymore, and Sammy's phone is nowhere in sight. Unless someone spinkicks the front door open, nothing is going to conveniently interrupt them this time, preventing Troy from actually having to make a decision. A decision that's rapidly feeling like it's being made for him, because the way Sammy's hands feel framing his face makes him want to give him the world. </p><p>But all he can eke out is a softly whispered, "Sammy..."</p><p>"For once, just--" The look in Sammy's eye is desperate, he can feel the war going on inside of his friend. He feels the battle as deeply as if it were in himself. All he wants is for him to choose himself, for once. To choose Sammy. "Just let yourself be happy."</p><p>He gives into the hunger in his gut. Leaning forward nearly off the stool, Sammy crosses the remaining space between them to press his lips to Troy's in a gentle, sweet kiss. It's not challenging, not aggressive. There are no expectations to the kiss, just the soft press of Sammy's lips against Troy's, the scrape of his stubble matching the scrape of Troy's, the taste of coffee and vanilla-- And Sammy's hands, holding Troy like he was the most precious thing he owned.</p><p>Oh, this is bad. </p><p>Not the kiss. The kiss itself is incredible. It fills Troy's body in an instant with a flash of heat that makes him realize how frozen he's felt for so long. The kiss makes him feel desirable and loved in a way he hasn't felt in so long he can't remember. He feels so full of love in just the split second it takes for Sammy's lips to find his that tears run tracks down his cheeks. His heart leaps in his chest and soars up into the clouds, and he reaches up to grab both of Sammy's wrists, just to hold his hands right where they are. This was the bad choice he wanted to make that night in the library. </p><p>But just as quickly as his heart took flight, it plummets once more. Here he is, being exactly the kind of man Loretta always was afraid he would be. Here he is, gleefully, <em>joyfully</em> being that man. Reinforcing the idea for her that she can never have a faithful lover. If she knew where he was now, it would destroy her, and despite everything, despite how she's hurt him, he doesn't want to hurt <em>her</em>. </p><p>He lets the kiss linger for just a few seconds longer than it should before he pulls back, holding both of Sammy's hands in his. He feels out of breath even though it had only been a few seconds, and a soft sound is wrenched out of him against his will as his entire body aches to return to that touch. </p><p>"Sammy..." he whispers, squeezing the other man's hands, unable to meet his eye. "Goddamn it, Sammy, I-- god, I want it so bad. I want it more than It'd be fair to admit."</p><p>Sammy shakes his head, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows around the knot quickly building in his throat. He can't breathe. He can't swallow. He knows what's coming next, and he can't hear it-- refuses to hear it, "We're lying to ourselves, Troy," He says, eyes wide on Troy's, trying to make him look at him through sheer force of will alone. </p><p>Ducking his head to catch his eye, Sammy shakes his head again, "You're only hurting yourself by doing it-- why are you? You know this isn't nothing." Sammy says the words with confidence, but it's almost too much, as if he's saying it to make himself believe it, too. Reassurance that he wasn't going crazy, or delusional. He couldn't have been.</p><p>"I know," Troy whispers. "I know-- you're right. It ain't nothin', it ain't been nothin' for a long while. It's been a great big somethin' for way longer than I'd care to admit-- but--" </p><p>His eyes flick up to look at Sammy's. He at least deserves the dignity of being looked at. "I can't do this again, Sammy. You deserve more than bein' the side hustle, and I-- goddamn it." He releases Sammy's hands to take him by the shoulders instead, ducking his chin towards his chest in shame. "I've been too ashamed to admit it, even to my best friend in the world. Loretta's fears ain't completely unfounded." </p><p>A knot tightens in his throat as he barrels on towards the words that are sure to change how Sammy looks at him forever. "I was unfaithful to my first wife. Her name was Lindsay, she was my high school sweetheart and-- and I ruined a good thing cause I couldn't keep my hands to myself. I didn't have an excuse back then, I just-- I just wanted what I didn't have, so I got greedy and took it. Loretta just about lost her mind when I told her about it after we were already married-- it's when all her paranoia started. I ain't never been unfaithful to her... I made one mistake a long time ago and paid the price for it then and there when I lost Lindsay, and hurt the first girl I ever loved. I can't bear to hurt Loretta like that, I can't be another fella in a line of fellas who haven't been faithful to her. Even if some folks might say she deserves the pain for all she's put me through, even if sometimes it feels like she backs me into a corner where I don't got any other options but to look for love in other places... fact is I'm my own adult man, and I gotta make my own adult choices."</p><p>Letting out a shuddering breath, he still can't quite bring himself to break contact with Sammy's shoulders, gripping them tighter in both hands. "I can't do this. No matter how bad I want it. No matter how right it feels. Long as I'm committed to Loretta, I can't. I just can't make the same mistake twice."</p><p>It's hard to describe how Sammy feels. How is he supposed to feel? He breaks eye contact with Troy somewhere through the middle of his words, and he can't quite seem to look at him for longer than a second when he does shift his gaze. For the most part Sammy remains still, electricity from Troy's hands making him feel as if he was sitting on static, rooted to the spot by chemistry.</p><p>"Doesn't this conversation prove that the circumstances aren't the same?" Sammy mutters, his voice low, "You can see how it's different. This isn't just something you don't have. It's not a whim," A bold claim for someone to make, considering Sammy was very much not in Troy's brain-- As if this conversation wasn't evidence enough of that. He looks up at Troy, mouth set in a line, "Is it?"</p><p>"No," Troy murmurs, swallowing hard. "No, it ain't a whim. First time it happened, I didn't even know the fella's name. I'd been lyin' to myself all through high school about my... appreciation of my fellow man, so when I got brought along on a friend's bachelorette party and she hired male strippers, I was all kinda messed up about it. I went into the alley for some fresh air to try and get my head on straight, and one of the dancers followed me cause he thought I looked glum. One thing led to another and my friend caught us in the act and told Lindsay." </p><p>He should take his hands off Sammy. He doens't. "This ain't a thing like that. I know you, I trust you, I-- well hell, you <em>know</em> I love you, I don't need to feel sheepish tellin' you that. But as long as my marriage to Loretta stands-- I just can't be unfaithful like that again. For my own sake-- I can't be a man who didn't learn his lesson the first time."</p><p>Sammy nods, his shoulders sagging as he looks away. Mouth set into that same, hard line, he stares just off the side-- is it sick he's still enjoying the touch? The pressure of Troy's hands on his shoulders, a return of the comfort he'd just given him, made his stomach flutter, even as his throat grew tight with despair. The conflict of emotions made him sick, deep in his stomach. </p><p>But what can he say? He can't argue, there's no point to it. Troy's mind is made up, it's obvious in his voice, his sighs, even in the way Troy holds onto him, like it will be the last time. It certainly feels like the last time.</p><p>"You're honorable to a fault, Troy," Sammy says humorlessly, swallowing once, heavily, through the knot that'd formed in his throat, "Loretta has no idea what she's got." Looking away, Sammy shifts his shoulders out of Troy's hands, taking a step back and away from the stools, hands tucking deep into his cardigan pockets, "You're probably tired, right? Let me show you my room."</p><p>Troy's stomach plummets as he remembers all over again that he came here to escape his wife in the first place. He can't go home, but the idea of staying here, taking advantage of Sammy's hospitality after shunning him emotionally is just too much for him to bear. But the idea of walking out similarly feels so cold right after such a painful coming-to-terms. Damned if he does, damned if he doesn't. He sort of feels that way with Loretta all the time. </p><p>Deciding it would ultimately be worse to walk out-- especially since he has nowhere to go-- he just sighs heavily, his hands falling to his sides. At this point it'd be ludicrous to argue for the couch, and he'd honestly appreciate a door to close and lock behind him so he could give himself the privacy of a good long cry. </p><p>"Yeah, uh... yeah," is all he can muster as he stands and follows after Sammy. He shuffles in after him, feeling awkward and pained, part of his brain still shouting that it might not be too late, if he would just reach out for Sammy and reignite that contact, it might not be too late-- but he knows he can't. Not while he's still married to Loretta. </p><p>How long that marriage might last, however. That's another story entirely.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It had made sense in the moment. </p><p>Sammy didn't want to be here. The Door needed to be closed. <em>Someone</em> was going to have to do it, and that someone had a very low chance of survival. Sammy, who didn't much care for survival and actually had a vested interest in entering the Void, figured it would be the best if he did it. Go out with a bang, right? Especially while everyone in town would be safe inside the Auditorium under the watchful eye of Troy, it'd be easy to keep everyone safe if something happened. </p><p>He didn't expect Walt to come tearing out of the trees in his ancient truck, massive, hitched-high wheels chewing up the earth and weaving between trees like it wasn't 10 feet long and old as the devil. He didn't expect Walt to actually grab him by the arm and yank him into the truckbed, surprisingly strong and absolutely unweildy. He'd seen the Door. He'd nearly touched it. He'd <em>felt</em> the Void, and the Void had... rejected him. In an un-fucking-believable turn of events, not even the goddamn Void wanted a thing to do with Sammy Stevens. </p><p>Wasn't that just par for the course? In trying to help, he'd made everything worse. He was told later that Walt hadn't survived, Troy's desperate assurance that he was alright was just a lie to encourage him back to the safety of their circle. If Sammy had been in his right mind when he'd heard it, he probably wouldn't've given them the chance to pick him up. As it was, they found him on the side of the road into town, the electrical surge from the transmorgrifier having entirely shorted out his electric car.</p><p>They don't talk to him about what he did, not for the entire ride back to town, and Sammy doesn't bring it up either. They all hold him just a little too tight, look a little too high above his eyes. They look too afraid to ask him anything they don't want the answer to, and Sammy can only guess what they've been thinking these past few hours. </p><p>So they don't say much at all. What is there to say? Thanks for the party, sorry I tried to prevent the apocalypse by making my suicide matter and made things worse instead? Sammy doesn't say anything when they pull into the parking lot of the auditorium. It had been long emptied, the only cars in the lot being Ben and Emily's, the civilians back home after another scary, exhausting Sammiversary. </p><p>"You can drop me off at home," Sammy's voice sounds eerily hollow, even to his own ears. In his periphery, he can see Ben give Emily a look, then Troy, an unspoken exchange happening that he can't even begin to find the energy to decipher. </p><p>"Actually, Sammy, Walt told us we ought to keep an eye on you, and... It's probably not the worst idea for you to have some company right now," Emily turns in her seat to look at him properly,  a gentle little smile on her lips. Of course, trust Emily to give him news he couldn't say no to. He doesn't say anything in response, nodding slowly, jaw clenching as he bites back the heat of tears. "So... Troy has a basement," Emily goes on, eyes on the older man's face as she speaks. </p><p>Neither Ben nor Troy say anything, Ben anxiously picking at his own thumb while trying to control the bouncing of his leg, and Troy very invested in the steering wheel of his car all of a sudden. "We were thinking you could stay there for a couple of days, and then we'll see how you feel once we can get everything figured out." </p><p>The silence of Sammy's response hangs in the air. Troy, Ben, and Emily each trying to sound casual and appear only politely invested, when Sammy could feel their conflict from here. Hell, he felt it, too. </p><p>"This isn't really you asking, is it?" Sammy drawls, but he already knows the answer. </p><p>"It was my idea," Troy says, his voice tired. Tonight has been... just so, so much. The whiplash of nearly losing Sammy, and then realizing that it's because he <em>wanted</em> to be lost is more than a heart can bear. He can relate now at least to how Sammy must have felt when he pulled Troy out of the river and he wasn't breathing. Troy feels like he's barely breathing <em>now</em>. </p><p>"He already talked to Loretta," Ben says. "All of us are going to stay tonight. In his basement, I mean-- Emily and I, too. We're not going to leave you alone tonight. And not because of whatever Walt said, just because--" </p><p>His words fall short. They all know what he was going to say, why he was going to insist they should be around Sammy. Nobody's sure Sammy won't make another, more mundane attempt if they let him out of their sight. </p><p>"It ain't a suggestion," Troy says, his voice flat, but not unkind. "So don't argue, Sammy. I already have Loretta settin' up the basement so it'll be all fit for when we get there."</p><p>"It'll be like a really sad slumber party," Ben says, unable to help himself. It's probably too soon for teasing-- but <em>he</em> needs the jokes, or he'll just die.</p><p>Sammy clenches his jaw, feeling tight in his chest and in his throat. He should have left, anyway, he should have gotten out of town. He can see the worry in Ben's eyes as he glances at him, fidgeting, and can see the same in Troy's as he looks at him through the rear-view mirror. Emily is the only one who isn't afraid to look at him, but there's so much sympathy in her eyes that he honestly can't stand to look at her for too long, either.</p><p>"Listen, we all saw how well I managed to go off on my own last time. All I want is a warm shower and my bed, and we can talk about it in the morning," Sammy could already tell this was one of those 'formality' complaints. They wouldn't let him out of their sight.</p><p>"Totally with you there, buddy," Ben agrees quickly, nodding, "So we'll let you shower first, get you sorted with whatever Troy's got, and we won't bother you. We can talk about-- whatever happened in the morning."</p><p>Sammy's mouth tastes sour as he slumps low in his seat, jaw clenching as he stares out the window. He could be pouting like a sullen teenager, but with context he just looks defeated, "I'm sure that's a conversation everyone is very excited to have."</p><p>"I can appreciate that you've had a rough few hours," Troy says, his voice even and almost verging on cold as he fights to keep himself in check. He's had a lot of experience forcing down his emotions into a more manageable pill, growing up like he did, and he puts it into practice now. Everyone else can break down, but he has to keep a stiff upper lip and make sure everyone makes it out okay. "But I'd appreciate it more if you wouldn't act like every single second past this ain't gonna be a blessing for us just on account of you being there. Unpleasant conversations or no, the fact that you'll be there to have 'em makes 'em a miracle, if you ask me."</p><p>Ben's expression crumples and he quickly looks out the window, turning his face away from Sammy so he doesn't have to see him cry. Again. </p><p>Troy pulls up in front of the house and steps out of the car, opening the door for Ben to pile out while Emily climbs out of the passenger seat. Circling around the car, Troy opens Sammy's door without offering him a hand, frankly afraid of what would become of his own sanity if he touched Sammy right now. With his stomach heavy and painful, Troy leads everyone indoors. </p><p>Shoes are left by the front door, and Loretta is nowhere in sight for the first few moments as Troy points out the basement door, encouraging the three of them to head downstairs and make themselves comfortable, pushing the sectional couch in whatever way will suit them best. There are already blankets and snacks downstairs courtesy of Loretta, and just as Sammy heads for the basement door she appears, and he catches a glimpse of her in her bath robe, standing up on her tippy toes to put her arms around Troy's neck in a way Sammy did himself not so long ago. </p><p>Fighting a wave of nausea as it sucker-punches him in the stomach, Sammy turns quick enough to give him whiplash, allowing Ben and Emily to shepherd him downstairs, and give Troy his privacy. He doesn’t say anything at the display, though he does fight the unbidden memory of Troy’s arms around his torso, and the way they felt. </p><p>The trio stand awkwardly in the center of the basement, Ben and Emily talking about the best sleeping configuration, and Sammy almost can’t bear to be around them.</p><p>“What do you think, Sammy? It’ll be a little tight, but if Ben is okay with squeezing,” She gives Ben an indulgent look— comforting as best as she can with unsaid words and soft touches— before turning back to Sammy, “I’m sure we could all fit on the sofa. Or I’m sure Loretta said something about cots, I should ask...”</p><p>“Honestly, don’t worry about me,” Sammy says seriously, frowning as he shakes his head, “You kids take the sofa. If there’s room to spare, maybe I’ll squeeze in. Or a cot sounds great. Or the floor. It all sounds great.” He doesn’t sound like he believes himself. </p><p>Emily glances at Ben, frowning, “Sammy—“ </p><p>He interrupts her with a sigh, dragging a hand through his hair, “Yeah, I- I know, Emily.  I’ll be better company once I get a shower in me, promise,” He smiles as he says it, but it’s flat. Without looking at Ben at all— he really can’t, not if he wants to keep it together. So instead he turns to the bathroom through the laundry room and closes the door with a click of the lock. Closing his eyes and leaning against the door, he finally takes a breath.</p><p>He's checked on not once, not twice, but three times while he takes a long, long shower-- once by Emily, Ben and Troy respectively. He stalls for as long as he possibly can, indulging in the hot water, and for once not worrying about whether he's being impolite by using all of it up. The only person who might not be understanding is Loretta, and honestly? She can suck an egg. </p><p>Sammy even uses a shaving kit he unearths from below the sink to give himself a fresh trim, and lingers even longer by giving his finger and toenails a fresh do-over with a cuticle pusher and clippers. He might be stalling for time, but it also feels nice to just completely give himself a makeover. He has to physically resist the urge to shave his head, just to feel drastic and different. Jack always liked his hair long. </p><p>When he leaves the bathroom, it's to the sound of soft murmuring that goes dead quiet as he rounds the corner of the laundry room, wearing the same jeans as before. Troy is already on his feet with a look in his eye that's honestly hard to read. He doesn't look as scared as Ben or as sympathetic as Emily, he looks... if Sammy had to put money on it, he would almost say angry. It's hard to look at his hard eyes, so he looks at his hands instead, where he's holding out an offering of a pair of soft pajamas-- probably a pair of Troy's. They're going to be way too long.</p><p>"I've got a pizza in the oven upstairs," Troy says as he hands the garments off to Sammy. "It ain't much, I just whipped up a dough on my lonesome and all I got are cheese and red peppers, but I figured some comfort food'd be nice right about now."</p><p>"Ben and I talked about that once. I think we decided if it has a sauce and a cheese as the base layer, it counts," Sammy is quick to deflect to happier times, quick to get them talking about literally anything else. Otherwise, the silence is too painful, nevermind the pitying looks he seems to be getting in spades. </p><p>He takes the pajama pants without a word acknowledging them-- another 'no argument' situation, he'd imagine. Plus, sleeping in his boxers in front of Emily might be a step in their friendship he wasn't ready to take. Instead, he glances up at Troy and nods his thanks, only meeting his eyes for half a second. </p><p>There's an awkward sort of silence that hangs over the crowd, and Sammy doesn't waste any time getting the hell out of that situation, too-- "I'll just go put these on," Another excuse is another excuse after all, and Sammy would've slept in the bathtub if he thought he could get away with it.</p><p>It's hard to find more to do in the bathroom, but he does. He slicks his hair into a proper top-knot and brushes his teeth using a toothbrush he finds in the cup by the sink, not bothering to think about whose it might be. Realistically it's Troy's, since God-knows he sleeps there enough, but Sammy doesn't linger on that thought any longer than he needs to, already sick of hearing himself sigh like an angsty teenager. That done, it's quick work to put on the proffered pants, despite their length. He feels very much like a toddler with his pants bit tight at the hips and dragging on the floor-- but they do the job after he rolls the legs up at the ankles.</p><p>This time, when he leaves the bathroom, he's ready to hear the sudden quiet that comes over the room and he's not disappointed, murmuring turning to silence as soon as he makes himself visible. This time, though, he confronts it: "Should I go upstairs while you guys get it out of your system? Do we just wanna do it now?" Sammy certainly didn't sound like he was ready to handle a massive conversation, but if it was that or silence? He'd take the talk.</p><p>Ben and Emily look at one another nervously. Troy isn't anywhere in the room again, leaving Sammy with just the two of them. </p><p>"Sammy, I--" Ben starts, but the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs startles him into silence. Sammy looks up, expecting to see Troy, and instead sees Loretta come down the stairs, hugging herself tightly in a fluffy bath robe. Sammy's never seen her before not made-up with a perfect face and hair. He's never seen her just look like a person in a bath robe and a ponytail. </p><p>"Stevens," she says without any of the heat her voice usually carries. But it doesn't need to, the room automatically feels heavier just with her presence. Ben feels it too, he looks down at the ground automatically. The only person who seems unaffected by her presence is Emily. Loretta looks like she's struggling to figure out how to best word what she wants to say. She can't say anything like she's 'happy he didn't go through with it' seeing as she'd been on the frontlines of the Sammy Haters Club, but clearly <em>something</em> had happened between her and Troy ever since Troy left Sammy's apartment after their... almost-something. </p><p>Finally, after an eternity of stony silence, Loretta settles on, "Don't be afraid to come upstairs if you need anything. I'll just stay out of your way. I just wanted to..." to what? She isn't even sure. She wanted to see him with her own two eyes. Suicide was a far cry from just wanting him out of town, it goes without saying that there's some measure of guilt there.</p><p>Sammy, for his part, doesn't make matters worse. In fact, Loretta's sympathy stings more than he'd like to admit. He didn't need anyone feeling sorry for him at all, least of all her. Like his pride really needed another hit. But, despite his heart sinking further down into his gut, he doesn't lash out. He doesn't make matters worse. That's something to be proud of.</p><p>"I'm sorry for the intrusion, Loretta," He replies dutifully, sounding every ounce as exhausted as he looked, "I'll be on my best behavior. With any luck, they'll decide I'm fit to be on my own again soon," There's another halfassed smile, but it seems to land even less directed at her, and he looks away before too long, clearing his throat.</p><p>"Thank you for opening your home to us, Mrs. Krieghauser. Please tell us if we're being too loud," Emily chimes from the far side of the room, as if they were actually planning some sort of raucous evening and not just a night spent in terse silence until they drifted to sleep.</p><p>"It's no trouble, Miss Potter," Loretta answers, like she's the only one going to be staying in her basement. Her and Emily's genialty has always been a mystery to the others, but especially appreciated right now. "Troy will be down in a minute. He's determined to spend the night with all of you. I'll be upstairs and out of your hair."</p><p>Sure enough, Troy appears just a few moments after Loretta takes her leave, holding a platter piled with party-cut slices of homemade pizza. He has flour on his face, but nobody points it out, and nobody seems to want to talk about what happened with Sammy. It's too new, too fresh. They'll talk about it eventually, they all know they will-- but it's too fresh now. Instead they put a movie on the big plasma TV mounted to the wall and eat pizza and find a way to be okay. </p><p>Ben and Emily wind up cuddled on one end of the L-shaped couch while Sammy takes the other end, wrapped up in a blanket. Troy sleeps on a cot they set up in the laundry room, unwilling to let any of them out of his sight even while unconscious. </p><p>Breakfast feels a little bit lighter than last night. Being able to put a night's sleep between them and the event does wonders for the mood. Things are less heavy, laughter is more genuine, and it's a little easier to look Sammy in the eye as they all sit murmuring around the breakfast table while Troy cooks at the stove. Loretta was already gone for the day by the time they all woke up around noon, giving them the freedom to talk and laugh without worrying about being a nuisance. </p><p>The only lingering heaviness, it seems, is coming from Troy. He's maintained that strong silent persona he adopted since last night. He hasn't smiled, but he hasn't exactly been frowning, either. To the untrained eye he might just seem tired, but to Sammy, who knows him arguably better than anyone else, he can tell that Troy is just barely holding back the floodgates-- putting on a display of strength to keep from breaking down in front of the people who need him most-- Sammy included. </p><p>Ben and Emily are masters at keeping conversation light come morning, and Sammy is so desperate to not dissolve into silence that he happily goes along with just about anything they put down. Usually inseparable, Sammy only manages to realize that they're together when he spots them holding hands under the table. It's a good ice breaker, one that accomplishes his main goal of making Troy smile, or laugh, or change his expression in the least. It's exhausting looking at that steely mask all of the time-- It makes him feel like he's being watched by a gargoyle, instead of staying with his friend.</p><p>By the time breakfast is over, they can entertain themselves with talk of cleaning, lightheartedly divvying up chores. Emily spearheads the campaign to return the place to 'better than before', relying on Troy's knowledge of his own house to lead them to the towels and even Windex for the microwave, since she 'had the time, anyway'. </p><p>Troy still doesn't talk much. When he does, it's to the group as a whole, not to Sammy, and while Sammy wants nothing to do with being too close to him, it seems like he felt the same. Amongst the laughter and lighthearted conversation, his stomach sours. Fucking up was nothing new. Fucking up this badly definitely was. </p><p>They retire to the basement afterwards for the last few hours before Loretta comes home. The conversation is harder, but not impossible, especially with Channel 13 playing in the backround-- It's easy fodder for both Ben and Sammy to rattle on about, both with their powerful opinions about the media outlet. Emily is more than happy to hear them banter, even if it isn't quite their usual caliber. She'd take it, for no other reason than to see Sammy and Ben smiling at one another again. </p><p>"Oh, it's 4:15," Emily says, spotting the DVR clock's time from her perch on the sofa, bookended by Ben. Frowning, she looks over at Troy, eyebrows knit delicately together, "Loretta gets home by 5, right?"</p><p>"She does," Troy says, one of the few things he's said all day. </p><p>"Should we go?" Ben looks between Troy and Emily. "We should probably go."</p><p>"If it were up to me, I'd have ya'll stay as long as you like," Troy says. "But I think Loretta would appreciate not feelin' like she can't come down into her own basement. You could tell her all you like that she's welcome down here, but she wouldn't come down for nothin' unless she had to. It's just how she is."</p><p>"Of course, I'm sure it's pretty... Awkward, to have us all here, in her basement," Emily admits with a sympathetic wrinkle of her nose. She hefts herself to her feet with a heavy sigh, turning to help Ben do the same, "Ben, you want to grab our chargers?" </p><p>Sammy stands, too, a little too fast as he wipes his hands on his thigh. Frankly, he's just relieved to go home. Anything would be better than hanging out in this limbo. At least on his own he'd be able to think about moving forward, or wherever he goes from where, whatever that's staying or going somewhere far, far away, "I'll change into my jeans," He says, "What are the chances you guys would swing by my car, just so I can see if it's even working, still?"</p><p>"Not you, Sammy," Troy says the thing that Emily and Ben are both too nervous too. Out of all of them, it seems like Troy is the only one who isn't looking to handle Sammy with kid gloves. Sammy isn't sure quite yet if he appreciates it or not. "You're stayin' longer."</p><p>"Sorry?" He asks, sounding confused as he gives Troy a look, "Do I get a say in it this time, at least?"</p><p>"No," Troy says, meeting Sammy's eyes without the same pity as the others. There's <em>something</em> there in his eyes, but it's so difficult to read it makes Sammy's stomach squirm. "Not this time, buddy."</p><p>"I didn't last time, either," Sammy retorts, looking to Ben and Emily for help, "Honestly, Ben? Emily? Can we put this to a vote, at least?"</p><p>"You shouldn't be alone right now, Sammy," Emily says softly, reiterating her point from the car the day before, rubbing her arm guiltily.</p><p>"You can have as much <em>you time</em> down here as you need," Troy says, folding his arms over his chest. "I can stay clear outta your hair if you need the space, but I ain't about to let you go home to that empty apartment of yours. None of us are. Ben's too afraid to insist for you to stay with him, and neither of us will <em>let</em> Emily offer seein' as she's a lady and she needs her own space. But I ain't afraid to insist. There's a door to the outside right over there, stairs that'll take you up around the house so you can come and go as you please, but this ain't negotiable. You're stayin' here for now."</p><p>Taking a deep breath, Sammy tries to sound reasonable, "I understand why you all might be frightened, okay? But believe me when I say, that was a one-time thing. Whether I'm alone here, or alone in my apartment, it really won't matter. Wouldn't it be better to just be in my own space, where I won't be bothering you? Or Loretta," Sammy's voice is very particular there. They knew their backstory with one another. An extended stay was never really in the cards.</p><p>"I already talked it over with Loretta," Troy says, not budging an inch. "If you'll excuse me for bein' so frank, there ain't a chance in hell you're leavin' this house any time soon. You broke our trust, Sammy. Used to be we could trust you to not get dead, but we can't trust that no more, and you ain't gonna get that trust back in a single night just by pinkie-promisin' you won't do it again."</p><p>Sammy looks like he physically bites back something to say, mouth opening, then shutting with a click. Taking a steadying breath through his nose, Sammy holds his hands up, "I know when I'm digging a hole," He says seriously, taking a step back before falling back onto the couch, arms crossed, "In that case, I guess I'm not going anywhere, thanks for visiting."</p><p>"Thanks for--" Troy starts, but Emily just puts a hand on his arm, and he sighs. "Yeah. I'll be upstairs." </p><p>He heads up the stairs, leaving Ben and Emily awkwardly standing in front of an annoyed Sammy. Ben chews his teeth, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "You know it's for your own good, man," he says finally. "If Emily or I had been the one to try... something like that. You'd be doing exactly the same thing for us."</p><p>"That'd be different," Sammy mutters, staring at nothing as he  shakes his head, "You really think I'm going go out and--" He takes another slow, steadying breath, "There isn't a Plan B, that's all I'm saying. Plan A failed, that's it. Now it's just trying to move on from here, which I can't exactly do if I don't even have permission to wear my own pants."</p><p>"That'd be <em>different?"</em> Ben squints. "How would it be different? What if I'd given up hope about Emily and decided I'd rather be dead than live without her, and I tried something and then failed? You'd be just as up my ass to make sure I'm okay, dude. It's not different just because it's you."</p><p>Sammy grits his teeth but says nothing, in the same way he did before, restraining himself from speaking with what seems like an impressive amount of control, "I'm sure I'll be seeing you guys around. Go on and get out of here," He gestures to the basement, leaning back on the sofa until his back hits the soft cushions, "You know where I'll be."</p><p>Ben looks like he's about to say something he'll regret, so Emily just puts an arm around his shoulders and leads him to the stairs. There are a million things he wants to say, but he says none of them as she shepherds him upstairs to say good bye to Troy. Something feels very final about closing the basement door in a way that makes Ben feel sick. </p><p>Troy is true to his word, and leaves Sammy be for most of the evening, preferring to check in on him via text every hour or so. Loretta comes home and Sammy doesn't see her either, which is a small blessing, both of them leaving him to wallow. Ben swings by again sometime around dinner with a duffel bag full of Sammy's things-- comfy clothes, his laptop, some toiletries and so on, stuff for him to subsist comfortably in Troy's basement. </p><p>The only thing that keeps Sammy from feeling like he's totally safe and at ease is knowing there are people in the building over his head. Even though one of those people loves him dearly... but that's a complicated subject Sammy had hoped to avoid having to deal with by going into the void in the first place.</p><p>Sammy drifts into a restless sleep, and it's pretty clear why he might. Unresolved guilt, unresolved angst, sleeping in someone's basement. He spent most of the night struggling to get comfortable on Troy's couch-- odd, considering he'd slept so well in it last night. It was extra long, built for plenty of company, so Sammy fit fine. Every time he opened his eyes, though, he remembered where he was, and what had happened.</p><p>Everything felt heightened in the Krieghauser household. Troy had said he'd give Sammy plenty of space, but there was something about wallowing in someone else's home that felt forbidden, like he had to be on his best behavior-- after all, he was a guest.</p><p>Sammy doesn't join Troy for breakfast the next morning when he texts, and only accepts Troy's offer for food at lunch when his stomach loudly protests him skipping another meal. It's the only time they see each other that day, and neither of them say much. Troy sticks with his steely silence, and Sammy offers him a simple, "Thanks for the meal, Chief," before taking his meal on a tray and slipping back to the basement, not leaving again for the rest of the day.</p><p>As it turns out, it's almost worse, being left alone. Maybe it would be different if he were in his own apartment. Maybe it's just comfortable to blame how strange he feels on the fact that he's in Troy's home, but there's something lonely about being given his "space." But he'd made such a stink over it that it's too embarrassing to take it back now and ask for company-- so he does the next best thing. He starts emerging up out of the basement at carefully curated hours, hoping to run into Troy. </p><p>Loretta he knows sleeps at night, but Troy has been taking night shifts at the mall, so his schedule is the same as ever. It's usually a safe bet that he'll be up and around sometime around noon or one, and then he uses the time before his shift at 9pm to do whatever around the house. He'll be gone until six AM, and then comes home and crashing pretty much immediately. But on days when he isn't working, his daily schedule is still roughly 1-6am, giving Sammy the perfect opportunities to slip upstairs for whatever reason-- usually in search of a snack, even if he isn't hungry. </p><p>He realizes after the first handful of failed attempts that he's just making things harder on himself, but it feels impossible to imagine asking for attention at this point. Especially since he's being texted almost non stop by Troy, Ben and Emily. Asking for <em>anything</em> feels like too much. Even moreso to ask it from a man whose marriage he very nearly ended not so long ago-- whose marriage he actually <em>tried</em> to end. </p><p>Sammy, ultimately, doesn't confront his fear-- He just works around it. Asking for anything felt like too much, and trying to just 'chance' an interaction was also proving to be a failure without careful planning, so that's just what he does. He leaves the basement exactly before Troy was to be home, lingering in the kitchen, making a show of looking for something to eat. </p><p>When the stairs creak, however, it isn't with the heavy footfalls of Troy's work boots, but with the delicate pat of Loretta's stockinged feet, as she appears in the kitchen to make herself coffee before work. Troy had come home earlier that night, and was in bed. Sammy hadn't even heard him come in. Ashamed at his own attempt, he retreats back into the basement to try and sleep, calling the night another loss, another night where he didn't feel better. They were beginning to stretch awful long.</p><p>Another restless night caps the day, and Sammy again has to wonder how he managed to sleep so goddamn well that first night, smashed in with Ben and Emily, bookended by Troy. He should be sleeping better now, with the quiet, and the peace, but it's not doing much to help him. Glancing at his phone-- good morning texts already received from both Ben and Emily, though it was almost 11 in the morning-- Sammy pulls himself together and slips to the kitchen. No doubt Troy would still be sleeping for an hour or two, and Loretta wouldn't be home. It'd be the perfect time to make himself an actual meal, as if that would fill the void in his gut.</p><p>When a meal doesn't do much more than make him tired, Sammy succumbs to the whim. Three days in, and he felt no more resolved than before-- he felt worse, the growing chasm between him and his friends purely self-induced. No more planning, he decides, wrapped in a fleece blanket, no more 'coincidental' meetings. This was <em>Troy</em> he was talking about. Tomorrow he would talk to him. Tomorrow they'd figure this goddamn shit out.</p><p>Sammy isn't the only one who's been running from his feelings. While he twists and turns in the basement, so too does Troy, two stories up.</p><p>Ever since Sammy's attempt, Troy has been a mess-- but he's kept it all internal. He's barely even spoken to Loretta in days, he's been so laser focused on just keeping his head on straight. He's felt a hair's breadth away from a total meltdown for days now, and it just keeps getting more and more difficult for him to keep a lock on his emotions. The last thing he wants is for Loretta to have to comfort him over nearly losing the man he very nearly cheated on her with. Something he's yet to even tell her about-- but past experiences have taught him that being forthright with her only makes her angry at him, rather than grateful for his honesty-- and to be frank, he can't take much of her anger lately. </p><p>He'd come home that day after leaving Sammy's place with a goal in mind. He was going to tell Loretta that he'd had enough of her behavior, and that she needed to shape up or hit the road. Looking back on it, he feels sick when he thinks about how much he'd genuinely hoped she would just take the out then and there, leaving him free to be with Sammy-- but she didn't. She was shocked by his sudden demanding of her, and hurt when confronted with exactly how sour things had grown between her and Troy (how she'd managed to remain oblivious to it was a mystery to him) and she promised to do better. </p><p>And she <em>has</em> done better. She's been kinder to him these past few weeks than she has been in years. It's almost unpleasant, not because of her behavior itself, but because Troy has been so used to being on the defensive with her for so long that he keeps bracing himself for an impact that doesn't come. Things have been <em>fine</em>, and he feels like the scummiest husband in the world for being almost disappointed that his marriage has been turning over a new leaf. It's not that he ever loved Loretta less, but he just didn't know what to do about his feelings for Sammy that have been blossoming for years. Part of him wanted to just call things quits with Loretta just to be with Sammy-- but it wouldn't be right. Not when she's making such an effort to turn her act around. And especially not now that Troy knows how serious Sammy was about Jack. </p><p>Maybe it was the fact that he knew Sammy was gay a long time before anybody else did. Maybe it was the fact that something had been <em>building</em> between Troy and Sammy for so many years-- but finding about Jack live on the air along with everyone else hadn't had the same impact on Troy that it seemed to have on everyone around him. He'd made the foolish assumption that Sammy was more or less over the man after all these years. He felt like a jackass now, looking back on it. </p><p>Years ago at the river, Sammy had almost died for Troy. But he'd <em>wanted</em> to die for Jack. </p><p>Thoughts of Sammy's attempt left Troy breathlessly unable to sleep these past few nights. He's been longing for the man in his basement while simultaneously afraid of seeing him. Afraid he would break down, get mean again. He <em>felt</em> mean. He felt like he had things to say that would hurt Sammy to hear, and he couldn't bear to be another source of pain in Sammy's life, after everything. So he just swallowed it down. </p><p>But swallowing it down along with everything else resulted in horrible nightmares instead. Nightmares that tormented him whenever he <em>was</em> able to sleep. He'd been so sleepless for so many days in a row now that he'd crashed sometime around midnight, hours and hours before his usual bed time-- only to awake in a cold sweat just four hours later. Loretta is sleeping soundly beside him, but despite the peaceful quiet in the bedroom, Troy is drenched in sweat and shaking in a panic. He doesn't remember the particulars of the dream, all he's gripped with as his eyes adjust to the darkness is the idea that Sammy Stevens is dead and gone, and the real dream has been Sammy staying in his basement these past few days. Unwilling to text him and just hope for a response, Troy throws on his robe and hurries down the stairs to the first floor, and then down the stairs into the basement where Sammy is also failing to sleep, curled up and exhausted. </p><p>Troy comes flying down the stairs with such speed that Sammy sits up with a start and grabs the pullchain on the lamp beside him-- and once they lock eyes, Troy feels like his soul has just been returned to his body. He sinks down on the stairs without a word and hangs his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking as he fights back the flood that threatens to overcome him at last. </p><p>For a second, Sammy isn't entirely sure <em>he's</em> conscious. He's heard of sleep paralysis, even lucid dreaming, and he wonders if this is a case of something to that end. But when he tries to think of himself waking up he can't-- and even then, it doesn't matter. Kicking the blanket off, Sammy stands, shirt askew. </p><p>"Hey," Sammy's voice is rough from disuse as he pads over to the staircase, kneeling beside it, and Troy. He hesitates to touch him, steeling himself before putting one warm hand on his shoulder. There's that heartbreaking electricity, same as ever, "What's up? Everything okay?"</p><p>Troy feels it shudder throughout his entire body, his gut plummeting out of his throat and back down to the center of the earth when he feels Sammy touch him. He can't bear to look up, can't bear to see him. The shivers start, tremors making every muscle in his body vibrate with anxiety and grief. </p><p>"Nothin's okay," his voice warbles, shaking and weak. "Ain't a single thing okay, Sammy."</p><p>Sammy feels those words in his gut, plunging deep like a stake. It makes his entire body tighten. It makes him want to curl in on himself. So he takes his hand away, instead, fingers breaking that contact. It make it easier to think, anyway, though he still felt tremors as he withdrew, enough to make his stomach twist with guilt, "I know," He says, without excuse, finally looking away from him, "I know."</p><p>"I had a horrible dream-- I couldn't tell what was real and what was in my head I just-- I had to see you," Troy says, grinding the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying desperately to keep it together. "I'm sorry-- sorry, you don't need this right now. Just gimme a sec and I'll go back upstairs I just-- needa catch my breath--"</p><p>Sammy pauses, brows pulling over his eyes-- "Hey, listen, you don't have to go. Come on, take a breath," He nudges Troy, trying to get him up, to lead him deeper into his own basement, "Tell me about the dream. Or nightmare, sounds like," Sammy encourages, turning on more lights and gesturing to the couch, like he needed an invitation in his own home.</p><p>Troy sits heavily on the couch, hanging his head in his hands. He still can't bear to look at Sammy. "I don't remember it, all I remember is wakin' up thinkin' you were dead. I had to come see for my own eyes that you were alive."</p><p>"Ah," Sammy nods slowly, his mouth forming a hard, uncomfortable line. More guilt piles in his stomach. It was relentless, "Well, I.. don't know how to tell you this, but I'm still kicking. Still crashing on your couch, so if you want to sleep here we'll have to coin flip for it."</p><p>"Sammy could you just--" Troy's voice comes out harder than he meant it to, and just the sound of it to his own ears is enough to make him sob. "Please. No more jokes. My heart can't take it."</p><p>Sammy's jaw clenches, but he nods at the request, feeling sick. He perches on the coffee table in front of the couch, just a bit in front of Troy, but not enough to be claustrophobic. He stares at his hands, "I'm sorry. I don't really-- Anyway," He rubs his palms on his knees, "All joking aside I am alive, so-- what can I do to help?"</p><p>"I think you've done enough," Troy says, too harshly. There's that meanness he was afraid would come out. He clenches his teeth together to stop any more from spewing out of him like vomit. Another shudder ripples through him and he pulls his mouth under control. "Sorry, I'm sorry. I don't mean that. I'm hurtin' somethin' awful, Sammy, and I don't know how to make it okay. You're hurtin' worst of all and it just ain't fair of me to fall apart on you of all folks. Especially when I helped push you where you ended up--" his voice cracks at the end and breaks off into a wheeze.</p><p>"Hey, hold up, pause-- What're you blaming yourself for, now?" Sammy interrupts him before he can continue, leaning into his space, trying to force some kind of acknowledgement, anything, "You didn't push me, Troy. No one <em>pushed</em> me to do anything, can we get that clear? I did what I did because I stupidly thought I could do some good while also running away from my problems. Not because of you, not because of Loretta. I made my own choice," He sounds bitter as he says it, and it isn't at all kind to himself, but Sammy had never been his own biggest fan.</p><p>"If I hadn't pushed you away that day," Troy's voice shakes. "If I hadn't turned you away to run home to a loveless marriage-- I can't believe that you woulda done this. Maybe I'm just hopeful that you wouldn't've if we-- if you hadn't been alone. I just can't believe you woulda done what you did if I hadn't turned you out."</p><p>Sammy frowns, looking away, back down at his feet in the carpet, "You wanted to make it work with Loretta, there's no shame in that," He says, his voice gentle, though it kills him to say it-- It's something he'd been meaning to say for some time, now. "We can't know anything for sure. Knowing what we know now about the Void... Knowing that Jack might..." Sammy's voice gets a little weak at the end, his hands clenching into fists so the bite of his nails into the meat of his palm can keep him centered.</p><p>He takes a deep breath, in through his nose, out, slowly, through his mouth, and he shakes his head. His eyes are faraway as he stares at the carpet, "Who knows what I would have done," he says, sounding pained, choking on his own repressed thoughts.</p><p>"I <em>didn't</em>," Troy gasps out, the words feeling like bile on his tongue. </p><p>"Didn't what?" Sammy asks. </p><p>"God help me-- I <em>didn'</em>t wanna make things work with her," Troy admits what he's been thinking for weeks, the thoughts that have made him feel downright damnable. "I was hopin' she'd turn away and leave when I laid down the law. I was hopin' she'd make that choice for me cause I was a coward. Too cowardly to just be a man and tell her to her face I didn't wanna be with her no more. Now she's sweet as a peach, sweeter than she's been since before I told her about Lindsay, and I've got nothin' but bad feelings for it. And then you go and do this-- a body can only take so much upset at once. I feel like I'm the next one bound for the Void if this heart ache don't let up."</p><p>"Don't joke about that," Sammy's voice is very serious, and very cold.</p><p>It was a funny joke for Troy to talk about heartache, when Sammy's had been hurting for the better part of a year, now. Funny that when Troy was trying to be a coward, things seemed to work out, and when Sammy did it, everything went to shit. Ducking his head in his hands, it's Sammy's turn to drag his fingers through his hair, leaning the heels of his palms on his forehead. It hurt, hearing Troy talk. Was he supposed to feel better?  Another conflicting emotion, added to the pile-- bitter at a lost opportunity, glad his friend was being treated better. </p><p>"So-- what, you-- You blame yourself? Yourself alone?" Sammy asks, sounding miserable as he tries to move on. He has to move on, tipping his head back to take an exhausted breath, "It's bigger than just you. That's my point."</p><p>"I know it's bigger than just me," Troy says, his voice shaking. "I know it ain't all on me, but you gotta understand where I'm comin' from-- how I feel responsible for some part of your pain. Some part of the pain you were runnin' from. You can't lie to me and say all this hasn't hurt you-- it's hurt me, too."</p><p>"Of course it hurt," Sammy caves, all at once, his chest aching, "I haven't felt that way about anyone since Jack, I thought I wasn't even capable of..." sis shoulders round as he leans back on the coffee table, suddenly feeling almost too close to Troy, like mere proximity to him was dangerous. "But it didn't work out. We're friends, we just-- move on from there," He says the right things at least, although they ring hollow to his own ears. He can't even imagine how fake they must sound to Troy.</p><p>Troy shakes his head, and finally lifts his face to look up at Sammy. He feels his words like a lance through his heart, but it's nothing compared to laying eyes on him again. </p><p>"We're friends," he repeats. The words feel as fake coming out of his mouth as they sound to his ears. "No matter how bad I mighta wished otherwise... I've gotta do my duty as a husband and make things right with Loretta. I was tryin' to trick her into endin' our relationship so I didn't have to... and the only way I can make that up to her is to be a damn good husband. Start over from the top, and do what I can to mend our relationship. And if in time it fails again, well-- then I won't be as cowardly the next time around."</p><p>He looks back up at Sammy again, swallowing hard. "But what about you?"</p><p>It feels almost cruel, now, to even be having this conversation. What about Sammy? What about him? Sammy looks up when he feels Troy's eyes, so expectant, on him, and he looks away, feeling a knot in his throat tie itself off, "Nothing about me. You won't be a coward next time and I'll still--" <em>Be alone. Love him. Miss him.</em> "--I'll still be here."</p><p>"I feel like every decision I could make is wrong. I'm gonna hurt someone no matter what I do," Troy says. "No matter what I feel. I just wanna do right by you, more than anything. Especially now. I just feel like I'm all full of bad choices."</p><p>Sammy is very invested in looking at his hands. Now that Troy is looking at him so freely, it hurts to be on the other end of his look. He tried to remember again if this was better than being alone. He stares down at the ground as he tries to think of something, anything, to tell his friend, and he comes up shorter by the minute.</p><p>"Right now, <em>I</em> don't even know what to feel," Sammy admits, sounding tired to his core, his voice rough, his head heavy-- hell, his entire body was heavy. "I feel guilty over what I put you through, I feel angry about the town, I feel scared about the door. I feel stupid for even trying something I didn't understand, and through it all I just-- Feel like shit," Hunching over, he presses his face into his hands, trying to prevent himself from crying. He was trying to make <em>Troy</em> feel better. But how could he when everything he could say was a lie? And an obvious one, at that. How is he supposed to say everything is going to turn out okay, when he's not even sure it will?</p><p>Finally looking up at Troy, he can see Sammy's over bright eyes, the way his cheeks are wet with the tracks of tears,  the hopeless look in his eye, "I don't know how to make this better. I don't know what I need, I don't know what you should do, I don't even know what <em>I</em> should do, I wasn't supposed to--" He wasn't supposed to be here at all. His eyes turn back to the floor, to his hands still scuffed with bruises and scrapes from the forest, "I'm sorry, Troy. For putting you in this position, and... Everything else."</p><p>"You hush up," Troy says, unable to resist his need to put his arms around Sammy. It might be a little bit of insult to injury to them both, but they also both know it's sorely needed. There's a polite, downright heterosexual amount of space between their bodies with Troy on the couch and Sammy on the coffee table, so Troy doesn't feel guilty at all for putting his arms around the other man and squeezing the daylights out of him. "You don't say another word, you hear? You don't have a thing to apologize for. You were hurtin' so bad you wanted to leave, and ain't a one of us knew what you were about to do. That makes us just about the most unobservant bunch of friends you could hope for. You were tellin' us to our faces you wanted to go, and it didn't occur to us once how you meant to go in the first place. We failed you, Sammy.<em> I</em> failed you most of all. I can only hope you'll forgive me."</p><p>Sammy's body twists at the feeling of sorrow that overwhelms him. It would be enough to crush him, if he wasn't so well versed in it by this point. Troy's words hit home, but it's the contact that kills him. It's such a heavy juxtaposition from before, their closeness battling this insurmountable gap between them. He feels it like a cold chill on the back of his neck. </p><p>"I'm good at lying," Sammy admits. He hadn't meant to sound so small as he said it, though, "You guys couldn't've known, I'm-- really good at lying. That's what got me into this mess, remember?"</p><p>"Well, we're all here to pull you back outta that mess," Troy says, pulling back even though it hurts in his chest to do so. He holds Sammy by the shoulders, and shamefully remembers the way it felt to kiss him. He can't think about that-- he has to do better. Has to be better. "For what it's worth-- I know you don't much appreciate my basement, and I know things are... strained between us. But I'm real glad you're here."</p><p>Sammy can only look Troy in the eye for only a second before glancing away, setting his jaw and smiling. It was too tight to be sincere and his eyes still looked so sad, but they'd looked sad since they'd brought him home. His chest ached as he forces himself to nod, as if trying to encourage himself to speak. </p><p>"I'm glad to hear it, bud," He says tersely. It was an honest answer, if nothing else.</p><p>Troy knows it shouldn't hurt to be called a friend by Sammy Stevens, and the guilt roils in his stomach that it does. He can't think of a reason to stay in the basement and invade Sammy's space any longer than he already has, so the two of them awkwardly part ways for the night, and Troy climbs the stairs to the second story feeling more conflicted than ever. </p><p>He crawls back into bed and puts his arm over Loretta's waist, trying to chase off the mixed feelings in his chest, and she stirs, takes his hand, and pushes his arm back off her waist, muttering something he couldn't understand, and that just sort of sets the tone for the rest of the night. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>From the moment Sammy started staying in Troy's basement, he figured Loretta's good graces towards him wouldn't last. Her awkward guilt afforded him a few days of peace, but he had the feeling it wouldn't last-- and of course, he was right. He just didn't realize how short that grace period actually would be. </p><p>Within just a couple weeks, she already seems fed up with him. His own period with which he had to make a decision on whether to renew his lease on his apartment closes right under his nose, and he doesn't even have an excuse. He just kept putting it off until it was too late (it's the depression, Ben reminded him gently) And now he has nowhere to go. </p><p>That isn't true, entirely. Ben spends an entire weekend with Tim and Emily moving all of Sammy's stuff out in boxes, packing it all into the spare room in his own apartment, which he insists Sammy could move into if he wanted it-- but the words are empty. With the station currently out of commission and every show on hiatus until it's back up and running (just two more weeks, Merv keeps saying every week) Ben managed to find another job with ease, temporarily working with Dan at Mission Apparition as a media manager and working with Lily here and there whenever he has the time, Ben had no trouble making his landlord happy. Sammy, on the other hand... while Merv is still paying him, and he's using a fair amount of that money to chip in around Troy's place with groceries and other bills, no apartment would be willing to sign on a technically unemployed man to a new lease. </p><p>Plus, it would just mean moving from inconveniencing one friend, to inconveniencing another. At Troy's place at least he can hide in the basement all day and watch TV, make use of Troy's little personal gym he has set up off to the side, he has his own private bathroom so he doesn't have to come upstairs and bother anyone-- it's almost like having his own apartment, minus a kitchen. But in Ben's tiny two-bedroom he'd be underfoot all the time, and worse-- sitting in the living room, he would be <em>seen</em> any time Ben walked through the room, and sometimes these days, just being looked at is enough to make him not want to be alive. </p><p>But of course, Loretta is losing patience with him. After that first month, she decided that just his money wasn't enough, and she started to relegate laundry to him. After all he was already living in her basement, and that's where the laundry room was. She'd start leaving full hampers of clothes in front of the door leading up from the basement, and really Sammy had no room to argue. What could he even have said to her? No, I <em>won't</em> do your laundry while I'm staying in your house practically for free? </p><p>Fair was fair, to a point. As a sign of good humor, the first couple of loads of laundry were on him. Hell, Sammy even thought he'd try and get a smile out of them by looking up a tutorial on towel folding. He managed a pretty decent swan, but Loretta didn't say anything, and when Sammy asked, Troy had no idea what he was talking about. He figured it must have fallen apart in transport, chalking it up to an unfortunate coincidence. </p><p>But, the baskets kept coming, regardless of how much time Sammy spent out of the house. Ben takes him along on a Mission Apparition shoot because of the fun locale, and he comes back to two baskets stacked neatly in front of the washer.</p><p>It becomes the first of many chores. With the laundry machines in the basement with him, Loretta decides it can be his full time chore, amongst a smattering, rotating cast of chores. Its been a while since Sammy had to navigate a relationship with roommates, but as he watches the growing list of chores accumulating by his name, he can't help but feel something was a bit unfair with the division of labor. </p><p>She says it's only fair. Sammy's the one without a job, whereas both Troy and Loretta juggle very strenuous jobs. Stuck at home, Sammy lacks any sort of counterweight to this. There's absolutely no obligation to anything he has to do, the least he could do was run the dishwasher, do their laundry, and vacuum the living room. Or dust. Or clean the kitchen. Or any other myriad of little, individual things that dictate Sammy's day.</p><p>The one upshot to that being that it encourages Sammy to leave his basement more. The laundry, sure, allows him to stay well within his comfort zone-- but everything else encourages him to see the sun, occasionally, to hang out in the living room or the kitchen. It gives him and Troy a reason to interact, and that is honestly what helped save their friendship, ultimately.</p><p>Awkward silences were hard to break, even harder to move beyond, and within such tight quarters it could have been truly impossible to find the closure they might have needed to move on, in such a short amount of time. And yet, as they were forced to interact by the demand of Loretta, so they did. It wasn't the worst thing in the world, for Sammy to finish cleaning the kitchen and for Troy to grab them beers and compliment his job. It wasn't the worst to have a reason to ask Troy for help lifting something to vacuum under or to a hard-to-reach spot. </p><p>It only got easier from there. Eventually, Sammy would jump in to help Troy with his chores, and vice versa, and most of the time they'd finish in a quarter of the time, leaving Loretta to come home to them laughing on the couch, drinks in hand, the TV quietly playing in the background. It was downright domestic. And she <em>hated</em> it. </p><p>She knows she can't talk to Troy about asking Sammy to leave. She knows, objectively, that Sammy is in a "hard place" but it's already verging on two months and he's still living in her basement. Sure, he pays rent and does chores and pretty much stays all the way out of her hair at all times-- but it's the principle of the thing. She never went down into the basement much in the first place apart from when she needed to do laundry, it was mostly Troy's mancave. She didn't watch much TV and she preferred the ritual of actually leaving the house and going to the gym over using Troy's equipment-- but now she <em>couldn't</em> go in the basement even if she wanted to. </p><p>The only thing that's a relief about Sammy being in the basement is she can pretty much pawn all her chores off on him. He can't argue because he's basically living in her house for pennies (okay, maybe $500 a month isn't pennies, but compared to what rent, utilities and bills would cost in an actual apartment it's practically nothing) and it gives her more time to relax. But that seems to backfire when Troy starts taking up half the chores from Sammy's dockett anyway. </p><p>And they don't have to be so fucking cute about it. Watching them laugh together makes her feel sick to her stomach. </p><p>Sammy likes to think he's pretty good at reading a room, and even he can think that, objectively, their friendship might be a little obnoxious. Considering it a honeymoon phase, Sammy had officially been around long enough to be trusted with something other than pitying looks, which meant that everyone-- including Ben and Emily-- seemed to be able to breathe a little easier around him.</p><p>More often than not, Loretta barged in on them having a moment, laughter dying at her entrance into the room and replaced with a warm sort of silence she was not privy to. What she wouldn't pay to have been a fly on the wall not two minutes earlier, all too interested to hear what they had to say that was so funny when she wasn't in the room, but miraculously stopped once she was. </p><p>Double worse was how much Sammy seemed to genuinely be trying. Perhaps it was his lack of a media platform, but the Sammy Stevens living in her basement now was nothing like the one who had called her out on the air. They ate dinner together sometimes, he said please and thank you, he complimented  her cooking. It would have been civil if she didn't know it was an act.</p><p>Which is funny, because Sammy thought the same thing about her. He can't tell if Troy is just oblivious to the way she acts, or if he chooses to ignore it because she's his wife-- but he sees the way she'll lay it on thick with Troy seconds after he was interacting with Sammy. She never seems to go out of her way to be sweet to him unless it's in direct competition against Sammy for Troy's attention. Maybe Troy just appreciates it when she's affectionate with him, but Sammy can't help but notice she only seems to give him affection out of spite for Sammy. </p><p>And in some dark, inside corner of his mind, he almost can't blame her. He knows she doesn't know about what happened between Sammy and Troy, considering she used to lose her mind just <em>thinking</em> that Troy was a cheater before Troy laid down the law for her. Not that Sammy would exactly consider being rejected for a kiss "cheating" but if Loretta was the type to steal car keys and trap Troy in his own house just to shelter him from the <em>possibility</em> of cheating, he has no doubt that finding out someone else kissed him would result in a nuclear meltdown of Chernobyl proportions. </p><p>But apart from that one ill-advised, poorly timed wonderful, incredible, and frankly unreciprocated kiss, Sammy and Troy's relationship has backslid squarely into the friendzone-- so her jealousy just comes across as rude. It isn't like Troy doesn't attempt to give her attention, because he absolutely does. But she skirts and rebuffs him whenever he tries (at least whenever Sammy is around, to be fair he doesn't know what she's like when they're alone) only to turn around and act like Troy laughing and joking and spending time with Sammy is somehow hindering her relationship with Troy. </p><p>Loretta found moments to solidify her place with Troy in bigger, much more public ways. Although winning the election basically by default due to Gunderson tendering his resignation, there is still much ado about the process. She's interviewed countless times, occasionally even making a point to mention Sammy, still crashing on their couch, poor and destitute without a job-- but she, in her generosity, allows him to stay. Despite their differences. She earns bonus points with everyone whenever she mentions their differences. </p><p>It's a nice story. Loretta makes a good Sheriff's Wife. Sammy had to admit, the political sphere suited her. Troy, however, was not focused on who knew whom and who's butt to kiss when. He wanted change made to their town, and he intended to do everything in his power as Sheriff to enact that change. However, with the mayoral election still yielding its abysmal results, the authority of the King Falls Sheriff's department is limited almost exclusively to civilian needs, completely disregarding higher-level politicians. </p><p>But Loretta was there through it all. Planted firmly by Troy's side during interviews, press conferences, and photoshoots, Loretta made sure to include herself in all the goings-on that involve winning a Sheriff position in such a contested place like King Falls, and the audience eats her up for it. She's never felt stronger in a moment.</p><p>It's been months, she reminds Troy sometimes, when things are private. When she thinks Sammy can't hear her. It's been months and he's <em>still</em> living in the basement. Troy will say he doesn't understand the problem, seeing as Sammy is more than paying for his presence, both literally with actual dollars and through labor. Why can't he just get a job, Loretta will say, get a job and sign a lease and move out-- and Troy will ask her if she's ever been so low she's felt the need to commit suicide, and how she might feel if she felt that low and then her recovery was rushed. She never has an answer for that, but she just keeps adding more chores to Sammy's chart. </p><p>Even Troy starts to notice that she seems to be taking chores away from him just to give more of them to Sammy. When he tries to protest, or tries to move them back to his side of the board, she insists that Sammy might as well do them since he's home all day anyway, and it'll give Troy and Loretta more time to be together. She doesn't appreciate it much when Troy insists Sammy isn't their <em>slave</em>, and moves some of the chores back regardless. </p><p>Her jealousy only grows when it comes time to harvest the autumn crop in Troy's lovingly maintained garden, and he asks Sammy to do it with him instead of Loretta. When pressed, he says that she complained of the cold dirt every year, and how long it took her to scrub the dirt out of her nails, and the worms-- and honestly, she didn't have an answer for that either. </p><p>Time and time again, when Troy turns to Sammy to help him with tasks, or just to spend time with him doing something, he seems to inadvertently throw back in Loretta's face how inattentive, uncooperative, unhelpful and absent a wife she's been, and if you ask her-- that's entirely Sammy's fault. </p><p>It's no wonder she begins to grow distant from Troy again. After months of dedication and work on her part, leave it to Sammy Stevens to come in the way of their communication and peace. Troy had established an excellent precedent by declaring what he needed in an open and honest way, so it was painful that Sammy had to come and ruin it for them both with his petty need for attention. Was it so awful for her to want any attention at all?</p><p>When the house feels too hostile to entertain, and she feels like an intruder in her own home, Loretta isn't left with much of an option; She spends more and more time out of the house. It accounts for the chores she pawns off on Sammy, excuses being a busy schedule, people to entertain, business to conduct.</p><p>Sammy, desperate to be amenable, desperate to not do this, not now, not while he had nowhere to hide or retreat to, not when he didn't even have his own pillows to scream into-- Sammy accepts the chores in stride, for the most part. An additional week cleaning the kitchen, tilling over Troy's garden for him (not by his request) those were all easy tasks. </p><p>The task that felt just too petty to ignore, was dusting. Dusting, the process of taking a dry piece of fabric and rubbing it over the surfaces in the living room to collect dust. One of the easiest chores on the chart. The one chore Loretta had so kindly held onto through these long, arduous weeks, and Loretta was now giving it to Sammy, on top of cleaning the rest of the house.</p><p>Sammy couldn't hold it in anymore. He had to say something. It might be a little petty, but it's been a little over six months now, and while hard work has never exactly turned him off, Ben's apartment is starting to look more attractive with how much work Loretta is piling thanklessly onto him. "You can't let yourself get used to this, Loretta, I'm going to leave the nest as soon as the station is back up and running, and at this rate I don't even know if you'll remember how to scrub a toilet-- you <em>do</em> remember how to do that, right?"</p><p>Troy looks up from the kitchen table where he'd taken up residence to do a little paperwork while he waited for the brisket in the oven to cook, at where Sammy is standing in front of the chore board by the front door. Loretta looks up as well from the couch in the living room, closing her book with a snap and carrying her empty teacup to the kitchen sink with the rest of th dishes, which of course it's Sammy's turn to clean. Sammy can be reasonably certain Troy will wind up doing them anyway-- but it seems to give Loretta personal pleasure to put almost all the chores under his name. </p><p>"Very cute," she says, her tone just this side of icy, "Are your gentle hands starting to get a worker's callouses on them? You know Troy's hands are solid like rocks. That's the sign of a real working man-- radio just doesn't cut it, does it?"</p><p>Sammy glances up at Troy, but it's brief. He would hate for Loretta to think they were sharing another <em>moment</em>, right in front of her. He wasn't naïve to the way her shoulders tensed whenever Sammy so much as interacted with her husband. </p><p>He turns to face Loretta in one smooth motion, "Really, Loretta, you have no idea. I don't even push 'Live' on my own microphone. Ben's got the switchboard, he does it for me." His tone is sardonic-- He's teasing himself more than her, after all-- But the look she gives Sammy is nothing short of simpering, like she felt bad for him. And-- ashamed as he was to admit it-- it actually sort of worked. Like callouses were any sort of measurement for manhood, anyway. </p><p>"Where are you going this time? Another important friend meeting? Must be the season for those," Sammy manages to drawl back in his gentlest tone. He didn't have the energy to react with biting anger or vehemence, unable to handle the tension that would descend over the house if he were-- but he could be a smart ass. It was basically his calling card.</p><p>"If you must know, yes. I'm going out to meet with an old friend," Loretta says as she slips on her shoes and checks her watch. It was the only reason she was sitting in the living room in the first place-- normally she'd give the two of them a wide berth if they were in the same room at the same time. The way they laughed together made her sick. </p><p>"Which one?" Troy asks conversationally, glancing up from her paperwork. "Is Beatrice back from her vacation?"</p><p>"No," Loretta says, looping her purse over her shoulder. "It's Derek." </p><p>Sammy's brow furrows. He's definitely heard the name Derek somewhere, but it must have been a while ago. He can't exactly conjure the memory-- but judging by the way Troy's entire face shifts from shock to betrayal and then back to shock as he stands up from the table, it's someone important. </p><p>"Hang on-- wait, <em>that</em> Derek?" Troy blurts. "Mr. Moneybags Derek? Mr. Bigshot Xenobiologist Derek?"</p><p>"That's the one," Loretta says. "The Science Institute reached out to him and offered him a job, and he moved to town a couple days ago." </p><p>"Whoa-- whoa whoa, slow down, okay, wait," Troy circles around the table. "You-- shitfire, Loretta, you're kiddin' me, right?" </p><p>"Kidding you about <em>what</em>, I haven't even said anything," she says, checking her earrings in the mirror by the front door. "I'll be back by midnight. Don't wait up," she arches up onto her tiptoes to kiss his cheek and pats him on the chest twice, and Troy is struck so still and dumb that he just watches her walk out to her car and pull out of the driveway, unable to conjure another word.</p><p>"Just so I'm clear," Sammy says, slowly and apprehensively, "Loretta just admitted to going out with an... <em>ex</em>, right?" There were two names, he was sure of it. One was Derek, he was decently sure of it. The other was... Glenn. Or Norman. Or Eugene or something, the point was they all sounded like jerks, and they all fucked Loretta over pretty good, last he'd heard. </p><p>Eyebrows furrowing, Sammy watches her car disappear down the street, looking over at Troy's back, confusion still evident across his face, "Troy, you okay?" His voice is low as he  watches his friend's back, apprehensive.</p><p>"I... man, I dunno," Troy turns around and puts his back against the door, running his hand over his hair. "I mean... I guess if she's still... friends with her ex that's... a good thing," he continues, sounding pained as he says it. "But-- shit, her and Derek-- they were serious. They were <em>all</em> kinds of serious. Talkin' about gettin' engaged serious. It was years back, before she even met  Norman, she was in college and Derek was some hotshot scientist type with a fast car who liked his girls... real, real young. She was in <em>love</em> with him. She talked about him sometimes... compared me to him, a lotta times."</p><p>"She's compared you to him? Oh, come on," Sammy can't help himself, rolling his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. He tries to get his exasperation under control, before Troy gets upset with him for having an unfavorable thing to say about Loretta. That's basically what got him in this entire mess to begin with. Holding up a hand to stop any protest Troy might have, Sammy gestured for Troy to continue, instead, "It didn't turn out well, safe to say?"</p><p>"I wish," Troy sighs, trudging over to the couch to sit down heavily. "If they ended bad, at least I could have some peace thinkin she didn't have feelings for him no more. But the only reason they broke up was cause he got a high-profile fancy boy job over in Japan when she was in her third year of school. He asked her to come with, but she decided to stay to finish her schooling. And she's said she seriously regretted that decision."</p><p>The realization of the situation hits Sammy like a sack of bricks, and he immediately pulls his face into a grimace, lips twisting in a frown, "Oh," He manages, the 'shit' implied, but unsaid. In the name of being optimistic, though, he straightens his back, "Listen, don't sweat it too much. She's starting to get annoyed by me, not you. You guys're still good, right?" Sammy asks, continuing without waiting, "For all we know, they're just catching up. It's been at least, what, ten years?"</p><p>"More like twenty," Troy says. "Although now that you mention it, she said he was 42 when she was 17... so by now he'd be something like... 63, I think? He's probably married by now, it's been twenty years. <em>She</em> got married in that time, so... they're probably just catchin' up, you're right."</p><p>"Exactly," Sammy reaches out to slap Troy on the upper arm, not quite the shoulder. His hand doesn't linger, just two swift claps and then he withdraws. He hadn't lingered on touching Troy in quite some time. "He just got a new job, they're old friends. They'll catch up, talk about how their lives took two very different paths, and probably just see each other at the grocery store, like the rest of us."</p><p>"Yeah," Troy grips his own arms, hugging them close to his chest. "Yeah... yeah, of course. I just wish my skin would stop crawlin' about this. She didn't tell me about it before now-- how long did she plan on goin' out to see him? She coulda told me sooner-- unless she didn't cause she didn't wanna gimme a chance to say no? Ah, shoot I'm overthinkin' this big time. I need to... jack in the box jesus I need to do something with my hands to take my mind off this. I've been meaning to take apart that old bookshelf upstairs and reassemble it in my office in the basement-- you wanna help me?"</p><p>Smiling slightly, Sammy nods at the invitation, "I'll have you know, I'm a master with Ikea furniture," He says proudly, though not enough to alleviate the odd quiet that settled over them. Breaking it again, Sammy clears his throat,"....And, with your history, it makes sense you're a little itchy about it, for the record. I probably would be, too, if I was in your situation. But let's take a second to let the information process, and if you're still feeling gross after the bookshelf, we'll make a plan of attack for talking about it with her, sound good?"</p><p>"Yeah," Troy says. It's all he can say as he grabs his toolbox from the downstairs closet and brings it up the stairs with Sammy, his thoughts rolling around in his head like thunder. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Honest to god, Troy isn't a jealous man. Unlike Loretta, he actually tended to trust his spouse-- and not just that, but her happiness was his happiness. That's how it's <em>supposed</em> to be, in a healthy marriage. That's how it always was for him. He and Grisham were never exactly best friends, but every time she would talk animatedly about work, he'd listen attentively and revel in her joy. He didn't know a thing about collectible Hallmark figurines, but they were a passion of hers-- and so he listened when she would talk about rare finds and the history behind their designs and he would share in the celebration when she would find a rare one tucked away in some corner of the internet. </p><p>And yet, over the years, she proved over and over again that the joy was very much one-sided. She didn't want to know his friends, she didn't find his interests engaging. He supposes that old western movies were a little dry if you didn't have the accquired taste for them, and paintball was a little messy for the average person-- over time he always just figured his interests didn't mesh with her. But lately as more strain has been put on their marriage and Troy's been doing some extensive soul searching, he's come to the realization that her interests never really mesh with him either, but that never stopped him. </p><p>His thoughts most days are consumed with all the little ways his marriage has been slowly sliding downhill over the years, and how he'd blindly stuck his head in the sand to avoid thinking about it-- to pretend it wasn't happening. He'd been so blind, so happy to meet every one of Loretta's exhausting demands, and he did it happily, joyfully. He never even realized it was a problem, never came to the understanding that the heights to which she set the bar were unreasonable, because he never really had anything to compare it to. </p><p>In high school, he had exactly two girlfriends. He'd been with a girl named Charlotte in grade six, a relationship that lasted an entire school year before she broke it off because her family was moving-- and then he didn't date anyone again until grade ten, where he met Lindsay and dated her all the way through graduation. His relationship with Lindsay had been so childish and inexperienced, fraught with only the sort of drama high schoolers can have, and ended so quickly after it earnestly begun in their adult lives in the "real world" that it barely counted at all.  And then nearly right after that, he fell right into a marriage with Loretta. </p><p>It wasn't until he met Sammy that he started to understand that he could actually lay down boundaries and make his own demands for how <em>he'd</em> like to be treated. And Loretta knows that it's because of Sammy that he's able to make these new decisions for himself. And she <em>hates</em> him for it. </p><p>The fact that Loretta is still going out once or twice a week to see Derek isn't, itself, a problem. Troy isn't a jealous man. Even with their relationship circling the drain, he values Loretta's happiness. The problem isn't that she's seeing an old flame who's probably married and has kids by now (not that Loretta has been telling him much of anything about her outings with Derek despite his gentle and casual questioning) the problem is the hypocrisy. The problem is that he knows if Lindsay came back to King Falls and he started seeing her as a friend, Loretta would go postal. </p><p>Sammy encourages patience where he can, but in truth, this turn of events has him wicked angry. Frustrated for his friend, annoyed by Loretta's lack of empathy-- If there was any world where he could ask Loretta just what she was thinking, he'd love to ask her. But he doesn't, knowing it won't yield the answer he wants. She'd deflect, or outright deny, or flip it on him in some way. Instead he focuses on being there for Troy. With Loretta gone so frequently, it opened him up to more of the house, less daunted by the after-work time that would usually be given to Loretta for whatever she might need the run of the house for. </p><p>As always, this opened Troy and Sammy to seeing one another, and, unfortunately? Sammy could see for himself just the sort of effect this mysterious relationship was having on his friend. Sammy sees Troy watching Loretta walk to her car, his eyes covered by his hand as if he was afraid to watch her leave.</p><p>"Hey, bud. Loretta gone?" Sammy asks gently, standing a decent way away, arms tightly crossed.</p><p>"Yeah. Yeah, she's gone. This is friend-date fifteen just this month, but who's counting?" Troy says, gesturing at the now-empty driveway. He sighs and rubs a hand over his hair before walking past Sammy without a word, and he heads down the stairs into the basement. </p><p>Sammy has been living with them for so long that the basement at this point feels less like part of Troy's house and more like Sammy's apartment-- and honestly, Troy likes that. He likes feeling like he can get out of the house without even leaving its four walls. He likes coming down into the basement and seeing Sammy's nesting materials. He's kept the basement meticulously clean because even seven months later, he still feels like a "guest" but Troy can see little hints of Sammy in every corner of the basement when he looks. </p><p>He sees Sammy's reading glasses on the coffee table, the nest he's created on the couch of blankets and pillows that he sleeps in every night, the way he organized the laundry room, the notes he has around the basement computer that has been his to use in addition to his laptop, the little trash can he'd bought specifically for the basement so he could put all the little cluttery trash in so he'd stop hoarding it in a corner like a nasty dragon-- the basement even smells like Sammy. Being down here feels good. </p><p>Usually, anyway. Right now, nothing feels good. Troy sits heavily on the L of the couch and hangs his head in his hands, sighing in exhaustion. He can already hear Sammy coming down the carpeted stairs, but he doesn't lift his head to look up at him. </p><p>"I'm guessing if you know it to the number, you're still not okay with it," Sammy says, his voice completely free of judgement. He stays by the banner of the staircase, leaning against the delicately swooping wooden rail. Crossing his arms, he leans back against it. He looks concerned, brows twitching over his eyes. </p><p>It wasn't like he was ignorant to the frequency of Loretta's comings and goings, but he hadn't counted, and to have a number either meant Loretta had some sort of awful calendar Troy was privy to, or he was counting on his own. Either option were not the signs of a healthy situation, relationship-wise or for his mental health. Sammy takes a few steps away from the stairs, to crouch beside Troy on the sofa, trying to make the other man look at him. </p><p>"Talk to me. You asked Loretta about what they do, right? What's she tell you?" He asks, assuming wrongly that Loretta would actually tell Troy anything with substance.</p><p>"She says they just get dinner and talk," Troy says, his face still in his head, his vision squarely on his own knees. "Says they've got twenty years of ground to cover, so it's taking a while. If you ask me, 'dinner' don't explain leaving at six and comin' back nigh on midnight."</p><p>Abruptly standing up off the couch, Troy starts to pace around behind the couch, swiveling back and forth on the carpet. "It's not that they're seein' eachother, you know? I'm not upset that she's makin' up with an old friend, if that's what it is. Hell, even if she is goin' out there to fuck him every night?" Troy gestures towards the stairs like she's standing right there, the curse coming out of his mouth with the force of a gunshot. "I'm not even sure I'd care at this point, a fact which scares me somethin' fierce-- cause what kinda cuckholdin' sonuvabitch does that make me?"</p><p>He sighs and sags back against the back of the sofa, rubbing his hands over his face. "It ain't that she's seein' him, it's just-- knowin' that if the tables were turned, I wouldn't be gettin' the same courtesy. How come I can't even make eye contact with Jenny at the Bent 'N Dent when she hands me my grocery bags without gettin' a <em>talk</em> from Loretta on the drive home, but she thinks it's okay for her to go see <em>Derek the Scientist</em> three times a week?"</p><p>As soon as he says it, the fight goes out of him, and he drops his arms into a loose cross over his chest. "I know why. I know exactly what she'd say if I asked her. Cause she ain't a cheater, and I am. Or was. Once a cheater always a cheater, she'd say."</p><p>Sammy should have felt him sink into the place where he can hear that dejected tone, the worried scar that was his own past choices, coming to bite him very thoroughly on the butt. Once a cheater always a cheater, right? "People change, Troy," He says, his voice serious and low as he tries to keep Troy's brain moving on something, anything else-- It doesn't seem to be fair, and of course he understood Troy's frustration, but...</p><p>Another frustrated quiet settles over them, heavy and tense, and this time Sammy doesn't have it in him to break it right away, he lets Troy settle with his thoughts, before stretching out a hand expectantly, clearing his throat, "Hey, seriously, Troy," Sammy says, successfully nudging him, "If its gotten this bad, and nothing she's told you has made you feel better, you gotta talk to her. You just have to be honest with how you're feeling."</p><p>"What am I supposed to say, Sammy?" Troy says, exhausted. "I can't say that I don't want her seein' him no more, because that ain't the problem. I don't mind if she sees him. But if I say that I'm upset she's seein' him because of how she's acted towards me in the past, she's gonna hear me sayin' that I want to be able to go out and see people too, and she's gonna get real mad at me. Especially since I done already had a talk with her about not treatin' me like a criminal no more, and she really hasn't since. I can't dredge up old shit we already talked about and resolved just to say I'm sore with how she's seein' an old friend now, how could I possibly?"</p><p>"You can, and you should. You say exactly that, Troy," Sammy urges, "She's being a hypocrite right now, and it isn't fair to you not to bring it up. You said-- What, you said something about Jenny? Did she say something about that, the other day?" He recalls them going, vaguely. It was only supposed to be a short trip, nothing remarkable, so of course Loretta would slip something snide in. He has to take a breath, refocusing. He wants what's best for Troy. Troy wanted to make it work. He had to respect his wishes, no matter how much they hurt.</p><p>So he rubs a hand over his face, frowning against his palm, "Remember what unresolved feelings did for you and Loretta before, Troy. You don't want it getting to that place again."</p><p>Of course Troy remembers. His unresolved feelings are sitting right in front of him. He parked his goddamn unresolved feelings in his basement and hasn't made a move to encourage him to leave for the better part of a year, now. </p><p>"I just can't see it goin' over well," Troy says, squeezing his own arms. "Cause what's the solution? It ain't for her to stop seein' Derek, cause that ain't the problem. Her stoppin' seein' Derek-- or let's be honest, more likely she'd just start <em>hidin</em>' seein' Derek, wouldn't solve the problem. The problem bein' that she treats me like a dang criminal every time I'm in the same room as another woman. So the solution is-- what? That she stop frettin' about the idea of me seein' other people? That's just gonna sound like an admission of guilt to her, for somethin' I didn't do."</p><p>He sighs, and rubs his hands through his hair, circling back around the front of the couch so he can sit down on it. "Worst part is-- both times I ever had any sorta... lapse in my good judgement, it wasn't for other <em>women</em>, anyhow. So all her bluster and hullabaloo over me standin' a bit too close to Louise Krackle on a crowded bus ain't for nothin. There ain't a single woman alive who's ever made my eyes stray from my wives... and I keep wonderin' whether I oughtta take that as a sign. That I just ain't the sorta man who oughtta be married to a woman."</p><p>Sammy's heart clenches, and he slams down on that feeling threatening his chest before it can blossom into anything more than he could already feel it being. Was Troy even aware of what he was saying? Who he was saying it to? It felt cruel to hear. But it was Troy, and Sammy knew better than to think Troy would play with his emotions, at least not intentionally. He was just being honest. Sammy had just promoted honesty. </p><p>"You said you wanted to make this work with Loretta, didn't you?" Sammy insists, "You have to forgive yourself for before. For both times, before," He adds, not looking Troy in the eye as he leans back against the coffee table. "If you wanna make it work, you have to talk to her. And if you don't want to make it work, anymore, then--" He struggles to find words that don't sound encouraging, in any particular direction. This couldn't be something he condoned. It had to be a choice Troy made on his own, "...Then that's a conversation, too, right? Either way, you have to talk to her."</p><p>Troy looks down at his hands for a long time, inspecting the callouses that Loretta had only ever praised once, when she put Sammy down right in front of him for not having them. She used to say his hands were too hard, right up until she used them as a weapon against Troy's will, on the man sitting in front of him now, with kindness in his eyes. The man who had taught him a new meaning to what it meant to be loved, and what love could even look like in the first place. </p><p>He thinks about how easy it would be to give up. To tell Loretta he was through, because he was in love with the thing that lived in his basement. She probably wouldn't even be surprised to hear it, if Troy told her, which is the saddest part. He gets the feeling they're both waiting for the other one to break first, because neither of them want to be the one who ends it once and for all. Neither one of them wants to be the one to admit that they can't find happiness in the other anymore. Troy isn't sure if it's pride stopping him, or just a desperate desite not to be the one to bring a second marriage crumbling to its knees. All this time he's thought his only motivation was to make Loretta not feel like she couldn't possibly have a faithful husband-- but maybe part of it is just Troy himself not wanting to feel like the sort of man who can't keep a committment. </p><p>Sighing, he lifts his head to look up at Sammy. He knows he has to try. For both his sake, and for Loretta's. He doesn't want her to feel like she isn't worth fighting for, even if he's been swiftly losing the energy to keep fighting for a long time. And he doesn't want to feel like the sort of man who gives up on his wife as soon as it gets difficult. No matter how easy and nice it would be to do so, and fall into the arms of the man sitting across from him. If Sammy would even want that anymore, after so long. </p><p>"I've gotta be real careful about it, if I'm gonna talk to her," he says finally, and unable to meet Sammy's eye, he looks back down at his hands. "There ain't such a thing as a good time for this sorta conversation... do you think I should just spring it on her, or what?"</p><p>" 'Just springing it on her' sounds like you're going to wait in the shadows and ambush her when she gets back," Sammy says, deadpan, shaking his head, "Don't do that. Figure out her schedule and figure out a good time to talk, sooner rather than later. If she's free after she gets back from whats-his-face, that'd be the best time, but otherwise you don't want it to be something that's right before work, or in too tight a timeframe. Nothing worse than needing to say something hard and being on a time crunch to say it," Sammy knew that feeling all too well, just as he knew the bitter feeling of disappointment as it slowly began creeping over his skin and making him feel sick to his stomach. </p><p>Here he was again, being the bigger man, being the better man, and why? It certainly wasn't because he wanted to be. It was because he <em>had</em> to be. Sammy was so tired, surely it'd be easier to accept the comfort of Troy's embrace. He could have slid into that strong circle of his arms, he could have wormed his way in there, guaranteed, but pure willpower made him stop and remember the desperation in Troy's voice that night they'd kissed. He'd needed Loretta, then, needed to make her happy, to make her feel valued and cherished. He has to respect that.</p><p>"I already gave you the best advice I got. Speak from the heart. You two have been married a while, now, I'm sure it'll... get resolved in no time at all," Sammy admits, smiling again, looking a little sad as he does.</p><p>"Yeah... goddamn, I hope so, cause it just can't keep on keepin' on the way it's been, you know?" Troy gives Sammy a similarly sad smile, both of them thinking the same thing but neither of them will say it. It would be so nice if Troy wasn't such a goddamn good person, if he would just give in to the thing they both want. But they both know he won't. When it comes to Troy, he'll always do the thing that's right even if the alternative is the thing that feels good. He did it with the SI, he did it with Gunderson, and he'll do it here, too. Sammy finds himself wishing all over again that Loretta could pull her head far enough out of her ass to appreciate how good she has it with Troy-- because someone fucking ought to, and she's the only one who can. </p><p>Troy's not a cowardly man, not really. He'll call himself one, but the man has faced down death itself in the past couple years more than any person does in their entire lifetime, and lived through the other side just as well-adjusted as he started. But when it comes to Loretta, he finds himself putting off the possibility of talking to her for as long as he possibly can. He keeps "waiting for the right opening," he tells Sammy, but it's been two weeks and December is officially here, and he's still putting it off. </p><p>Just as he's starting to worry about things going south right before Christmas and putting a bad taste in both their mouths for the holiday for the rest of their lives, he finds his opening. For the first time ever, Derek cancels a meeting with Loretta at the last second. Something about SI business, Troy didn't pry. But all of a sudden, Loretta has nowhere to go for the evening. All of a sudden she's home, with nothing to do. So Troy takes the opportunity. </p><p>Approaching her in the kitchen with Sammy sequestered away soundly downstairs, he wrings his hands together as she stands at the counter making tea. He blows out a long breath to gather his nerve, and very nearly walks away, feeling sick to his stomach. Barely managing to steel himself, he starts with, "Hey, sugar plum? Can we talk?"</p><p>"Now?" she asks, her tone cool. "I'm tired. I just want to go to bed early."</p><p>He almost lets her go. He's always been a pushover for her. But he thinks of Sammy downstairs, and he clears his throat. "Yeah, now. With any luck, it won't take too long, and you can still get to bed early." </p><p>"Fine, make it quick," she says, turning her back again and pouring the hot water into the mug over her tea bag. </p><p>Troy exhales again, gathering up all the nerve in his body. "So you know how you've been seein' Derek an awful lot lately?"</p><p>"Seriously, Troy?" she turns around abruptly. "That's what this is about?"</p><p>"Now hold on, I ain't finished," Troy says. "I'm not here to ask you not to see him no more. I know you two got history, and you miss each other and all. And I'm happy for you two bein' able to catch up after all this time." </p><p>Loretta softens a bit, but squints at him in confusion. "Okay? And?"</p><p>"Well... it's just..." Troy rubs the back of his neck, unsure of how to continue. He can already feel  himself wilting. "Ah, shoot, I'll just say it. I don't know how to phrase it all delicate-like. It makes me real sore that you've been goin' out minglin' with your ex boyfriend, especially the one you've always liked comparin' me to on account of I'm not as rich or handsome or well-spoken or educated as him, but if I even breathe in the direction of another girl, you used to get all on my case about it. That's all. I just-- thought I should address how I'm feelin' some type of way, so we could talk it over." </p><p>"What are you saying, Troy?" Loretta demands, voice cold. </p><p>"All I'm sayin' is I don't think it's fair that you've been seein' your ex all willy nilly as a friend, but if I did the same thing, you'd think it wouldn't be alright," Troy says hesitantly. </p><p>"Well, which one of us has the history of being unfaithful, Troy?" she says, even more coldly, and Troy sighs. He called that one straight up and down, hadn't he?</p><p>"That was a long time ago, Loretta," he says with the tiredness that can only come from well-rehearsed and oft-repeated lines. "And it wasn't even when I was married to you."</p><p>"Once a cheater--"</p><p>"Always a cheater, yeah, I know. I'm not sayin' I didn't do it, I'm sayin' I was young and dumb and repressed," Troy says. "But that ain't the point. The point is that I ain't never gone outta my way to be unfaithful to you, never a once, but that never stopped you from actin' like I was always barkin' at the end of my chain with every breath. All I'm sayin' is that it don't feel fair for you to be seein' a man you were in love with once upon a time, when I can't even take my tea from the barista at starbucks without you worryin' about whether we're gonna run off together on account of our hands touched a little. Can't you see where I'm comin' from?"</p><p>"No, Troy, I can't," she says, her voice hard. "Because <em>I</em> was never caught with my hand in the fucking cookie jar. If you wanted not to be treated like a cheater, you should have thought of that before you cheated." </p><p>"I didn't even--!!" Troy starts, but he immediately exhales to keep himself from yelling. It won't help if they get loud. Especially because Sammy would be able to hear them. "Please just acknowledge what I said."</p><p>"I did," she snaps. </p><p>"No, you changed the subject into bein' about me again. I want you to address what I said about what you're doin." </p><p>"And what am I doing, Troy? What are you accusing me of?"</p><p>"I'm not accusing you of anything," Troy says, exhausted. "I know you ain't cheatin. I know you never would, not with your history. And I ain't afraid of you cheatin', neither, because--"</p><p>"Because I've never done it before," she finishes for him. </p><p>"Because I <em>trust</em> you, god damn it," Troy feels his heart sink. "Because I trusted you when I married you that your vows meant something."</p><p>"I wonder if Lindsay thought the same thing about you?" Loretta sneers, and Troy feels the strength leave his legs as he sits down on the living room couch. This is going about as well as he expected. </p><p>"That's not fair and you know it, Loretta," Troy looks up from the couch at the voice, and from around the corner by the kitchen comes Sammy, looking cool as can be, arms folded over his chest.</p><p>"Stevens. How very like you to show up just now, but as you can see, we're having a conversation," Loretta's tone is impudent as she gestures between herself and her husband.</p><p>"I'm not here tor rub your face in it, but come on. You weren't just ''having a conversation', or I wouldn't be here. Troy's trying to talk to you about something that's bothered him for a while, now. You wanna maybe try to actually open yourself up to it?" Sammy tries to sound as impersonal as possible as he talks, crossing over to stand between them-- halfway between Troy on the couch, and Loretta standing by the wall.</p><p>Loretta, unsurprisingly, looked like she had an issue right away, "Oh, you've known about this, have you? Talk about me often?"  Her eyes narrow at Troy. </p><p>"Y'know, I'm just one guy, but in my experience sarcasm really doesn't help much," Sammy snipes, voice sharp in a warning as he continues, "I can sit here and play mediator if you can't play nice. I refuse to stand by and let my friend be spoken to like a criminal when he's just trying to share how he feels, comprende?"</p><p>"Are you policing <em>my</em> tone, of all people, Shotgun? I would be very careful about how you dictate I talk to my husband," Loretta's words carry a serious warning. </p><p>"Asking you treat Troy like a human being shouldn't be met with this much goddamn argument, Loretta," Sammy snipes back, unable to help himself.</p><p>"None of this is the point," Troy erupts from the couch, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes, leaning forward even as Sammy takes a step back, "Sammy interruptin' ain't the point, you bein' sarcastic ain't the point, none of this is."</p><p>Sammy, looking properly chastised, clears his throat and nods, looking solemnly at his friend before gesturing for him to continue, "You're right, Troy," He looks up at Loretta as if in warning, daring her to say anything, daring her to ruin this conversation for him, "Remind her what is the point, as simply as possible, and we can continue the talk productively, this time. Without twisting each other's words," He adds, with another stern look at Loretta. </p><p>Every time Sammy so much as acknowledges her presence, Loretta looks like she loses two months off of her life, her mouth set in a small line. Sammy had never seen someone dunking a teabag 'furiously' until now.</p><p>"The <em>point</em> is I'd just..." Troy sighs. "I'd like you to see where I'm comin' from Loretta. That's all. You gotta understan why it hurts me to watch you runnin' off to play catch-up with an old ex of yours, someone you were <em>actually involved</em> <em>with</em> at one time, but I can't even lock eyes with someone across the qwik-e-mart without you remindin' me of my vows-- especially when the mistake I made was before I even <em>met</em> you, so it didn't even <em>affect</em> you."</p><p>"It didn't <em>affect</em> me?" Loretta repeats, her voice low and furious. "You think finding out the man I married cheated on his ex wife didn't <em>affect</em> me?"</p><p>"That's not what I meant," Troy sighs.</p><p>"Loretta," Sammy's voice is surprisingly paternal, well-honed through friendship with Ben, "You know what he meant."</p><p>"He thinks that just because he didn't cheat on me, I'm not hurt by his actions," She replies imperiously, turning to Sammy, "I can read my husband just fine without your interpretation, thank you. And for the record, Troy, it <em>does</em> affect me. It affects how I can trust you." She sounds so wounded. It takes every muscle in Sammy's body not to roll his eyes. He only sort of succeeds.</p><p>"Well, if you'll excuse me sayin' so, it shouldn't," Troy says, in a brazen display that makes Sammy's heart clench with pride. </p><p>"<em>Excuse</em> me?" Loretta seems shocked that he would even dare. </p><p>"I said that I don't think it should affect how you can trust me, seein' as we've been married nearly eight years now, and I ain't never cheated on you, not once," Troy says, squeezing his hands together in front of him, his brow set in a line. "And if your paranoia's to be believed, I've had <em>many</em> an opportunity, and I ain't acted on a single one of them." </p><p>"My <em>paranoia?!"</em> Loretta's voice increases in volume. </p><p>"Yes, Loretta, your <em>paranoia</em>," Troy won't back down, and he stands up off the couch. "Your circlin' and vettin' and spyin' and pryin'. You've been so obsessed with the idea I'm gonna cheat on you that you ain't even had a chance to enjoy your own marriage! You care more about where I do or don't park my cookies than you care about <em>me!"</em></p><p>She looks absolutely infuriated at Troy's gall, her eyes going wide and her jaw clenching and unclenching, like she was trying to chew through iron, "How dare you say that. I am so sorry, Troy, if I've inconvenienced you with my <em>paranoia</em>. I'm <em>so sorry</em> I had to find comfort myself, since you seem so hell-bent on providing none," From his position between them, Sammy can spot her hand, clenched into a tight fist. It was practically white-knuckled.</p><p>"Providing-- <em>providing none?"</em> Troy's voice cracks he's so distraught. "I've let you hawk over my phone for years, Loretta! I've let you trail me around, check up on me every other hour if I'm out without you, I've provided you with literal reciepts of the things I buy, gave you access to my credit card and bank statements-- tell me what else I could <em>possibly</em> be doin' and I'll do it if it'll be the final thing that'll get you off my case about bein' faithful to you!"</p><p>Loretta's voice takes on a dangerous lowness to it, an eerie, grim demeanor settling in her tone as she eyes Troy, face hard to read, "I have asked you time and time again to stop putting yourself in compromising situations. I've asked you to <em>watch</em> your company. The way you treat people, Troy, you aren't stupid, you know the effect you have on women <em>and</em> men," She says through grit teeth.</p><p>For one terrifying moment, Sammy's entire body clenches. She knows. He looks up at Troy, but doesn't say anything, jaw set. "Yet here you are, asking me again about what to do? How many more times can I explain myself? How many more times do you need to hear it?"</p><p>"Stop bein' <em>friendly?</em> That ain't a solution, Loretta. I can't keep twistin' myself up into pretzels to satisfy every last little anxious thought that goes through your head," Troy says, sagging bonelessly back down onto the couch. "At some point you gotta take a little bit of ownership of your own scary thoughts and fight 'em back. At some point our marriage has gotta mean enough for you to wanna <em>try</em> givin' me the benefit of the doubt, because the way it's been goin as long as it has been? I already told ya I can't take it no more."</p><p>"You <em>did</em> say that," Loretta says frigidly. "Then why are we even having this conversation?  You already said you're not asking me to stop meeting with Derek. So what's the goal here? You want me to get off your case so you can sneak around easier?"</p><p>"For the love of god," Troy hangs his head in his hands, rubbing them over his face. "I knew you'd say that, Loretta. I called it weeks ago, word for word. What's that say about this nightmare tornado we done got ourselves into?"</p><p>"We didn't get ourselves into anything, Troy. You made a mistake and now you're paying for it," Loretta hisses. </p><p>"How many years I gotta pay, Loretta? How many good years do I have to crawl on my hands and knees like a dog to make up for a mistake I made <em>eleven years ago?"</em> Troy sounds desperate. "I don't want you to stop seein' Derek, I just want you to understand why it hurts me that you thought it'd be okay. Why it hurts that you don't see the double standard."</p><p>"I don't see it," Loretta snaps. "And I never will. You're the cheater, Troy, not me."</p><p>"Terrific," Troy mutters, dropping his face back into his hands. </p><p>"Are you seriously saying you're content to let things stay the way they are, Loretta?" Sammy asks, sounding exasperated, and a little in shock, "How are you okay with this? How is this even a marriage?" </p><p>"How <em>dare</em> you judge our marriage--"</p><p>"Look at you!" Sammy gestures to Troy, looking beaten and heavy, slouched on the couch, then Loretta, rigid, taut, and brimming with anger, "I don't have to know you both from its conception to know that this isn't why you two got married in the first place. If there's no compromise apart from Troy completely isolating himself from anyone, what option is there? He's the <em>Sheriff</em>. He deals with the public every day, and, more importantly-- he's a great guy. Why would you even want him to stop being nice to people? It's part of what makes him so incredible!"</p><p>Troy doesn't even lift his head. He's too tired to stop the two of them from going in on eachother. And maybe some exhausted, vindictive part of him <em>wants</em> to hear Sammy lay into her. It makes him nauseous to think that he's allowing Sammy to fight his battles for him... but he's been fighting in this particular battle for so long, maybe it's okay for him to take a breather. </p><p>"Him being <em>incredible</em> is the problem!" Loretta says it like it's a curse, gesturing cruelly towards his slumped form. "Everyone wants a piece of him! How am I supposed to compete with people like Maggie Masterson or Jeanette Newberry if they make moves at him? Even fucking <em>PEARL WILLIAMS</em> flashed her tits at him, and he didn't do a thing to stop her! He didn't even arrest her for public indecency! Her or Jacob! He LET them get away with touching him!"</p><p>Troy sighs wearily. "I let them <em>get away</em> because they're <em>kids</em>, Loretta. Jacob Williams is barely twenty one, and Pearl's even younger. Sexual predation charges are <em>for life</em>. I couldn't live with myself for shacklin' a couple of kids with permanent sexual predator identifications, put 'em on a list forever? They're stupid children, Loretta. I was around their age when I made my great big ol' sex mistake, too. Might be I relate to that kinda stupid, reckless decision making, and didn't wanna saddle 'em with a designation that'd ruin their lives. They know better than to try it again, I laid it out real clear for 'em."</p><p>"How fucking <em>noble</em> of you," Loretta hisses.</p><p>"Are you <em>kidding</em> me?" Sammy leans back. He can't hide the animosity in his glare, it's pure luck he doesn't actively sneer at her words, "How insecure are you? You're basing this on 'what-ifs'? Have Maggie or Jeanette even shown more than a passing interest in him? Do you even let them spend enough time together to find out? Jesus, even Pearl Williams had to get <em>arrested</em> just to see Troy for longer than a minute without you calling to check in on him."</p><p>He's angry. He knows he's angry. It wasn't supposed to be his job to be angry, but it was hard when the amount of bullshit being flung was... Frankly, impressive. "You <em>have</em> to see how ridiculous this is. At what point do you trust the man you married? Seriously, why are you still even here if you can't trust him to be alone with other people?"</p><p>Troy finally lifts his head. "I try to believe that this is all outta love," he says wearily. "That you act this way because you love me so much you don't wanna even risk the thought of losin' me to someone else. But sometimes, it gets real hard to believe that."</p><p>"How could you <em>say</em> a thing like that?" Loretta scoffs. </p><p>"Well, you goin' off to rub elbows with Derek don't help," Troy says, clasping his hands together, his elbows propped on his knees. "Honestly, for a while now it's been startin' to feel more like you wanna <em>have</em> me than love me. Like you wanna <em>keep</em> me, like some kinda... status symbol. Like you <em>cured</em> the nasty, sinning cheater by makin' him walk the straight and narrow by force. I'm not a project, Loretta. I'm not broken, and I'm not a bad man. And I ain't <em>never</em> cheated on you. Not a once. So I'll ask again. Can you really not see the double standard?"</p><p>"I really can't," Loretta says coldly, not bothering to dispute anything Troy said. "If you actually loved me, Troy? If you really cared about how I feel? Then you would do everything I asked without argument."</p><p>"I tried that," Troy says sadly. "And it still didn't make you happy, did it?"</p><p>"Well, if you--"</p><p>"Did it, Loretta?" </p><p>"If--"</p><p>"<em>Loretta</em>," Troy cuts her off again. "Answer my question. Are you happy?"</p><p>Loretta looks between Sammy and Troy with panic in her eyes. Her chest rises and falls rapidly and she gulps hard, her entire body shaking finely. It takes her several long seconds to bite out the answer. "No."</p><p>"No," Troy repeats. "You ain't. There was a time there when things were okay. Where I let you go through my phone and hound on me day and night. I did it joyfully. What changed?"</p><p>"You stopped loving me," Loretta accuses.</p><p>"No," Troy says, keeping his voice low and patient. "What changed was for the first time, I got honest-to-god friends. Before Sammy and Ben, I only had potluck friends, the kinda friends I'd see on Sundays at church and be invited to monthly cook-outs with. Before I met Sammy and Ben, my life consisted of a straight line between home and work. But then I made friends, and I started goin' out more and seein' them more and spendin' more time away from where you could watch me-- and you started spiralin', Loretta. If you ask me, that means you weren't ever even happy to begin with. You were still scramblin' to make sure my blinders were on nice and tight so I could only ever look forward at you-- I just made it easier on you. I enabled that behavior, I let you think it was right and okay and normal to treat me the way you did, cause I didn't have any reason not to. That's on me. I never did have much of a backbone when it came to you."</p><p>"So it's his fault," Loretta turns her gaze up to Sammy, furious. "Everything always comes back to you, doesn't it Stevens?"</p><p>"I'm sorry-- <em>my</em> fault? You're jealous your husband has <em>friends</em>, and <em>I'm</em> the problem? Maybe take a second to do some soul searching before you answer, because I really don't think you want to go down this path," Sammy says warningly, voice low.</p><p>"Oh, yes, because we all know what happens to people who <em>oppose</em> Sammy Stevens," Loretta hisses, eyes cold.</p><p>"I'm not doing this with you, you're intentionally missing the point," Sammy keeps his voice firm, though his eyes are locked on hers. There's the familiar tick in his jaw that denoted his frustration, "Listen to your husband, Loretta, he's trying to talk to you honestly. That's what you've wanted this whole time, isn't it? Honesty?" His voice is witheringly simple, speaking to her like he would a toddler.</p><p>Troy looks up at Sammy and then at Loretta, his heart breaking. He reached the end of his rope a long, long time ago. At this point he's just been holding onto the threads while the rope has been unraveling around him. </p><p>"She doesn't want my honesty," he says, exhausted. "Bein' honest with her has never brought anything but pain. I don't get points or nothin' if I tell her something I know's bound to upset her before she finds out from someone else. I've never had an easier time of things by throwin' myself at her mercy, because she don't want honesty. She just wants me to never make mistakes. Unfortunately for you, Loretta, you married a man who makes mistakes."</p><p>"Unfortunately for me," she repeats in a hiss. </p><p>Troy just sighs. "I've made some bad choices over the years. Some more recent than others. And I let myself get all kinds of cynical and tired. I was so tired of gettin' gutted by you over and over again for tryin' to be honest and open up to you about things first, before you had a chance to hear any gossip. I was so <em>tired</em> of gettin' raked over the coals every single time I tried to do right by you. So this last mistake I made, I didn't tell you."</p><p>"What are you saying?" she squints at him, while Troy glances apologetically up at Sammy. </p><p>Troy knows this is suicide. He knows he's about to kamikaze their marriage right into the ground, but at this point... they're only hurting themselves, dragging it out like this. He looks back up at her with sad eyes. "I only ever wanted to do right by you, Loretta. All I ever wanted was for you to be happy. But I don't think you can be happy with me, no matter what I do. I don't think there's a world in which I could make you happy, because of what happened with my ex-wife. I think it don't matter if it'd been eleven years, or twenty, or a hundred since I lost my way with Lindsay, I think it's the principle of the thing, ain't it? I think you need to be... with a man who ain't never made the kind of mistake I made. Cause I don't think you could ever, ever be happy with me, no matter what."</p><p>For once, Loretta is silent. She doesn't have something snarky or mean to say. Her teeth are glued together and for the longest time she doesn't even breathe. Her entire body is trembling as she stares at Troy with an expression caught somewhere between terror and anger. Finally she unsticks her teeth to repeat, "Troy, what are you saying?"</p><p>Troy looks up at Sammy again, both for moral support and in apology. He knows this is going to come down just as hard on Sammy as it will on him. Not that Sammy and Loretta's relationship could be any worse than it has been. He stands up off the couch, unwilling to feel vulnerable, unwilling to be beneath her for this. He blows out a long breath, drops his chin to his chest and shakes his head, and then finally speaks. </p><p>"Loretta, Sammy kissed me, a long while back. A li'l while before... before he made his attempt. Right after you and yours put on that little hate-fest for him, and you and I argued, and I left-- I went to his place to check on him," Troy says, speaking slowly and evenly, unwilling to look up at her just yet. "And he kissed me. And I never told you."</p><p>Loretta is stuned absolutely into silence as she stares between the two of them. It actually takes nearly a full minute of silence for the anger to finally settle in, and when it does, it's honestly less explosive than Troy was expecting. </p><p>"I fucking <em>knew</em> it," she spits. "You're <em>disgusting</em>."</p><p>Sammy winces, pulling a face at her words. But, it's not like he could be surprised. At all. With her history, with <em>Troy's</em> history, with the very fact that this argument had happened as a precursor... yeah. Sammy could 100% understand why she would feel some type of way about the news. Hell, having it all laid out like that, Sammy actually felt guilty. Only for a second, though.</p><p>Hefting a heavy sigh, Sammy nods, "I am. Not him, Loretta-- <em>I</em> kissed Troy," He turns to stand bodily between her and the sheriff, as if he could block the heat of her glare from the man who's entire body looked like it was being dragged to the ground by the sheer force of his actions, "It lasted one second, and it was over. Troy pushed me off and told me he was committed to you, because you deserved better, because you were the woman he was in love with and had committed to," Sammy's eyes remain locked on Loretta's, and he sees absolutely no change from their infuriated gleam.</p><p>"You expect me to believe a fucking word out of your mouths? <em>Either</em> of you?" She spits, looking like she wants to reach out and hit them both. </p><p>"No, course not," Troy says tiredly. "You'll believe me when I say Sammy kissed me, but you won't believe a word I say about the circumstances leading up to it, what choices I made, or what I chose to do after. You'll believe what you've always wanted to believe, that I'm a cheater-- and that's my point, Loretta. You can't be happy with me no matter what, cause you ain't never gonna see me as nothin but a cheater no matter how good I am, no matter how perfect-- and heaven forbid I make a mistake. This just... I don't think it's gonna work, Loretta."</p><p>"Oh, YOU don't think it's going to work!?" Loretta shrieks. "That's fucking rich, Troy! I can't BELIEVE you! How many months have you been sharing my bed after this? How long have you been fucking <em>tricking</em> me?!"</p><p>Troy just sighs and shakes his head, and looks down at the ground. "There ain't a thing I could say that would make this better. No amount of explaining myself is gonna get through to you. I don't think there's any recoverin' from this."</p><p>And that was kind of the point. Troy's entire body aches, but he knows this is the only way they can both be happy. </p><p>"You are <em>repulsive</em>," Loretta rounds on Troy, steps right past Sammy, and slaps him clear across the face. Troy looked like he both saw it coming, and chose not to try and stop her. He turns his cheek with it and just sighs as she turns around to go running up the stairs, presumably to start packing, and leaves the two men alone. </p><p>Sammy stands in stunned silence, watching the spot Loretta had occupied in the room. His mind chugs as he tries to think of something, anything to say. An astute observation, a genuine moment, a heartfelt confession-- anything, really. But everything felt too trite, it felt wrong. It was wrong, coming from him. Nothing should come from Sammy, he was the one that got them both into this mess in the first place!</p><p>"Troy, really..." Sammy stares at the floor shaking his head, like he couldn't believe what he was even thinking, himself. The silence that settles between the words makes it hard for him to move on. The remnants of the conversation lingers on them both, "I don't know what to say," He lands on, for lack of anything else.</p><p> His fingers itch to touch his shoulder or his hair but Sammy shoves his hands into his cardigan, shoulders hunching as he turns to try and make a physical barrier between the door and himself. Loretta doesn't need to get any last-minute barbs in (Though he's quite sure she'll manage) and hopefully blocking the door would make the entire process... easier. Judging by the slamming happening upstairs, Mrs. Krieghauser isn't planning on going down gently. Troy didn't need to beat himself over this than he no doubt already was.</p><p>"We'll have a couple drinks once she leaves and talk, alright?" Sammy's voice is soft as he steps just shy of Troy's face. Danger alarms rang in his head. "About all of it. Whatever you want. Or nothing, if that's what you need, too. I'm here for you, Troy."</p><p>"Yeah," Troy says softly. Sammy's never seen a man look so absolutely defeated before, as he watches him sink down to sit on the couch and hang his head in his hands. </p><p>Blessedly, Loretta says nothing as she comes back downstairs with a suitcase in either hand-- one of which definitely visibly has Troy's name monogrammed onto it, but it's such a pointless case to try and argue. Troy doesn't look up as Loretta storms past them, and Loretta doesn't look at them either. There's the sound of a slamming outside, a horrible metallic noise and the breaking of glass, and then the sound of a car engine starting and pulling away. </p><p>Silence descends over them for a long while, time during which Troy doesn't move or speak, and neither does Sammy. There's no right thing to be said, no way to recover from this-- at least not so soon. </p><p>"Well," Troy finally breaks the silence after an eternity. "I guess that's that."</p><p>Sammy doesn't have it in him to mention that it was definitely not 'that'. Even if their relationship just ended, it's never so easy. Loretta hadn't made anything easy on Troy for as long as Sammy had known him, and a separation was going to include a fight, which meant Troy's time was only about to get worse. His heart sunk for him. He doesn't say anything about that, though. That's not what he needs to hear.</p><p>"Come on," Sammy finally says, mustering up enough courage to nudge Troy's shoulder, encouragingly, "Let me pour you a drink, at least. You know I have a heavy hand-- whiskey? Neat?"</p><p>"No, I don't wanna use alcohol as a coping mechanism," Troy mutters, sounding exhausted. "There's, uh... peppermint iced tea in the fridge. Wouldn't mind some of that."</p><p>Sammy doesn't argue, and also doesn't say anything about how Troy's words make him ache for how good he is-- make him ache all over for how long he wasted trying to gain the approval of a woman who never would have given it to him no matter what. He fetches the tea with a few ice cubes and hands it off to Troy, who takes a long sip before setting it down on the coffee table in front of him. </p><p>"Oh lord, Sammy," Troy says, his voice breaking as everything comes down on him all at once, and he hangs his face in his hands. "I tried so hard, Sammy-- shit, I tried so hard."</p><p>Sammy caves, almost immediately. Going soft, he rounds the corner of the small table to sit next to Troy, not hesitating to touch his wrist, as if trying to move his face away from his hands, "Hey, you know you did, Troy. I know you did, you know you did," He encourages firmly, "You were honest, that's it." He's not sure what he can say, what he can do. What would even be welcome? Was his nearness too much? Was it inappropriate? </p><p>His stomach clenches with the sheer complications of it, frustrating as they were and impossible to ignore. He pulls his hand away, taking the opportunity to face him head-on, "As a friend, Troy? I have to say, it'll be nice to not see you under her thumb. It was rough watching the person you become around her.  Don't... hate me for saying it, but I hope you know this really feels like it's for the better."</p><p>"I don't hate you, Sammy," Troy says, looking up tearfully into his friend's face. "I could never hate you, never. Not in a million years."</p><p>He drops his face back into his hands and just starts to cry. He cries with his whole body in guttural, gusty sobs that seem to shake the ceiling with their volume and pain, and all Sammy can do it just put an arm around his shoulders and let it happen. He has to give him this moment to grieve. </p><p>"Oh it hurts-- it hurts so bad Sammy--" Troy sobs, barely able to breathe in fast enough before another sob rocks him. "It hurts in my whole body--"</p><p>What can he say? What can he do? Sammy's body seizes, clenching tight as he feels ice settle into the very marrow of his bones. He looks like it's all he can do to hold Troy close-- and it is. So he does. Fingers tight on Troy's shoulders, Sammy pulls him into the crook of his arm as he leans against him on the couch.</p><p>"I'm here, buddy. You're not alone," He murmurs, voice warm as he gives Troy a reminding little squeeze, his voice low. Tucking his head into Troy's shoulder, he presses his forehead into his shoulder. It's as much of a hug as he could do, one-armed and facing the wrong way, but it was something.</p><p>Troy sobs until he runs out of the energy to do so, and then shivers until he loses the energy to do that, too. At some point Sammy managed to twist and unfold a blanket off the back of the couch to cover the other man with, a comfort he greatly appreciates as he sinks into the folds of the fabric and sags against Sammy's side. </p><p>"She's gone," he finally murmurs, after far too long. "God, Sammy... she's gone. Am I the worst for feelin' just a li'l bit happy?"</p><p>"Not even close," Sammy doesn't hesitate, shaking his head, "It's gonna take more than some tears and relief to make you the worst. Even if she doesn't feel it now, I guarantee with some time apart Loretta will realize she's better off, too. It's just a matter of... two people bringing out the worst in each other. Apart, you guys can grow again."</p><p>He pulls Troy in for another side-squeeze, rubbing his arm comfortingly, "How're you feeling?"</p><p>"Exhausted," Troy admits. "Heartbroken. Hopeful, a little?  Mostly just... real, real sad, though. I just-- I just wanted to make her happy, damn it, that's all I ever wanted. That's all I ever tried to do. At least nobody can say I didn't put in every last second of my heart and soul into fixin' things as I possibly could. God, I shouldn't have hid it from her, I shouldn't have lied," he hunches over, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Doesn't that make me exactly the kinda man she's been afraid I am all this time?"</p><p>"It doesn't make you anything other than what you are, which is a man who was kissed by another and has been dealing with the repercussions since," Sammy's voice doesn't wane, his determination visceral as he shakes his head, "Don't let her anger rewrite what happened for you-- I kissed you. You told me no. You pushed me away. You did every single thing you were supposed to do in that situation. You wanted it to work with Loretta, but it didn't."</p><p>Leaning down, Sammy shifts, moving one big hand to settle on either side of Troy's shoulders, making his positioning a little awkward, but his expression is sincere, at least, "Listen to me, Troy. This doesn't make you a bad man. Your wife leaving you after you try to tell her the truth? Doesn't make you the bad guy, no matter how much she huffs and puffs and cries-- hear me? It doesn't," Sammy bends to catch Troy's eye. It's important he hear him on this.</p><p>Troy searches Sammy's face for a long moment, his own expression crumpling up as he fights to internalize what Sammy is saying to him-- but it just won't sink in. He knows on some factual level that Sammy is being logical, but the part of him that has been beaten down for so many years by Loretta refuses to accept that he isn't to blame for this. </p><p>"I think-- I think it'll take me a li'l bit to tuck away that truth, Sammy," he admits in a hoarse, sad whisper. "The only other option is blamin' her for it, and... that feels almost worse."</p><p>"I will tattoo it to your eyelids myself if you need to see it in your sleep, Krieghauser, or I'll tell you every damn minute I can," Sammy's voice tries to go stern, like a reproachful mother, but like always Troy does it better, "Sometimes it isn't even about a specific 'who'. Blame the men who hurt Loretta before you married her, blame whoever told her that she was beyond responsibility for her own mental bullshit. Hell, blame me, if it would make you feel better-- but it won't. We both know it won't," Shaking his head, those strong hands squeeze his shoulders again. </p><p>Troy wouldn't look at him, but that would absolutely not stop Sammy from pouring every ounce of affection into any iota of touch he allowed himself to indulge in, his stomach burning with words he has to swallow, enough feelings set aside to give him heartburn.</p><p>He looks up in the silence that follows, trying to think of a place to move them. The living room was rife with her things, the upstairs worse so. Hell, even Sammy's basement had plenty of Loretta-like touches, little knicknacks she's acquired over the years to fill her home, as people do. It was cute. Now, after all this? It seemed like she haunted every nook and cranny of the room.</p><p>Looking down at the man in the circle of his arms, he sighs, a poor placeholder for what he wanted to actually say. "You can stay in the basement while Loretta's stuff gets packed away so you don't have to see, if you want. I can text Ben if I could stay with him-- or you could stay with Ben while everything gets figured out. Maybe you could head over now, and I could stay and pack, huh? I think I know who's stuff is who's."</p><p>Troy looks up around him at the room like he's seeing it for the first time in his life, Sammy's words slowly cutting through the fog. He blinks away the tears and inspects the room around him with his brow furrowed. </p><p>Loretta isn't coming back, he knows that much. She'd been waiting for so many years to prove herself right about Troy's 'true nature' that now that she finally has it, she'll be free to run off with Derek at long last, like she'd always wanted to since she was in college. Maybe it's petty, but Troy wants to look like the bigger man by already having all of her things put together for her to pick up and take with her. He doesn't want to look passive in her leaving-- he wants to do everything he can at least to let her know he still supports her, even after everything. </p><p>"No, I wanna help," he says, sniffing and wiping his eyes one last time before putting his glasses back on. "I think... I think it'd do me good."</p><p>Sammy glances at Troy, eyebrows pulling seriously over his eyes, "Good good, or 'making yourself feel bad' good? I'm not gonna let you be a dick to yourself, Troy-- no can do."</p><p>Troy laughs humorlessly as he picks up a picture frame off the mantle of the fireplace. It's a wedding photo, that much is obvious. Troy is beaming from ear to ear, and Loretta looks like she's barely tolerating being there in the first place. </p><p>"You know I've had to replace the glass in this twice over the years cause she threw it at me?" he says without looking up, rather than answer directly. Sammy is quiet as he nods, mouth set into a concerned frown.</p><p>"Okay," He agrees, following him at last to the mantle, gently taking the frame from Troy's hands. He doesn't linger on the picture, he's seen it before. The sadness seeping off of his friend is making his own gut sore. This wasn't the time, he knew it wasn't, but Jesus seeing his friend hurt so bad.... Hurt, "Maybe we have a third pile for donations," He suggests, voice gentle.</p><p>Troy relinquishes the photo with a sigh. "Yeah... yeah, I think that'd be good."</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>